Siren Whispers

Siren Song


Winter’s kiss

The last leaf falls

to the ground, solitary

sentries within my garden




to the gaze of the sun

vulnerable and exposed, limbs

aching for the touch

in winter’s kiss

autumn’s slumber becoming

the waiting beauty

of winter


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Artwork taken from Pinterest, source unknown.


Coppery want


Taste the hunger in the night

black as coal

unforgiving in its depth

this wicked intent reigns supreme

hands grip

fingers rake

the length of me

nails leave pretty pink

tracks laced with red

draw blood, love

taste my lust

coppery want that begs for more

lips only

silenced with yours


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph by Bogna Patrycja Altman



Sunday confession

your hands slide up my thighs

silken webs woven

with desire

fingers finding

lace and soft

skin to stroke

breath and sighs, ascending

a fevered crescendo


upon your lap


curious, heat

lips and breath

tangled cries

finding religion, deep

within these stolen moments


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Photograph taken from Tumblr, unsourced.

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That book


You would be the book I would savor.

The cover only hinting at the contents;

my curiosity aroused

by the suggestion of what lay inside.

My attention held from those first moments.

A word

a description

would catch my eye

leaving me to think that this was no ordinary book.

Neither formulaic nor predictable,

but rather something unique

and rare.

Something searched for,

knowing it when found.

Modestly bound,

this book would be full of depth.

unmet fire,


Feeling the connection


I would pore over each page


my fingers sliding along text and image

heat rising along each curve

my pulse

beginning to race

imagination flaring.

The story touching me,

arousing me,

inducing me to read

well into the night.

Ravenous for every word.

Enthralled with my discovery.

But though impatient to reach the end

I would restrain myself from glancing at the final page.

Knowing the journey through those pages,

reading every line

knowing every chapter

would be worth it.

To know the story,

the man,

in his entirety.


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Tumblr; original provenance unknown




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He takes my measure

Every time he meddles

With my boundaries

The seas within my soul

A dark and deep place

That not all wish to explore

With twisting currents

That are forbidding to all

But the most heartened

He who rides the waves 

And plumbs those depths

With courage

Is he who I seek


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


Library boy


Once upon a time things were simpler.


Life is different now.


I think of you and an image forms in my mind.

Library boy.

You would have been that boy alone at the library table.

A stack of carefully chosen books in front of him.

I would have noticed you from across the room,

my own stack of carefully chosen books in a semicircle before me.

A fortress to hide behind.

A way to see without being seen.

I would lose myself in the silence that was the rule and which I breathed in with great

greedy gulps.

I would have noticed you in much the same way you become aware of the other lone

person in a cinema.

Watching a last run film and laughing at the same parts.


I would have been shy, never speaking to you or making eye contact,

but wanting so much to talk to you

to get your attention.

I would have made trips to the stacks, ostensibly to find a book, though I clearly had

enough to occupy me.

I would have felt you watching me as I walked past you to use the card catalog.

You aware of me.

Me aware of you.

With every step.

Feeling your interest as I shuffled through the cards.

Not reading them.

Not even seeing them.

My face flushed.

My heart thumping out of my chest.

Willing this solitary boy to be as interested in me

as I was in him.


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


Tangled narrative

my words can,

at times,

be a tender confessional

of needs and wants,

of memories and fantasy,

or sometime a rush of spleen

as I unveil myself


and privately;

but most often they are

a tangled narrative

that finds me


at the center,

pulling at edges

that have kept me rooted

and wilting

for far too long


Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photography by Michelle De Rose via Flickr