Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Saturday storms

It’s raining, a drink of water after parched days. The ground was littered with odd drops,  scattered randomly, before the thunder came and the heavens opened.

The rain always stops me in my tracks. I wait. I watch. I wonder. And my heart aches with some unfathomable feeling that soaks me to my core with a haunting want.

He is the one I think of when the rain falls, shattering itself upon the pavement. A Saturday morning with nothing but the sound of rain, and thunder in the distance. It’s always him I think of  — sitting end to end on a couch, reading. Or, notebooks open upon laps, jotting down something that comes to us, dialogue or a poem. I think of laying in his arms, just listening to the rain, not saying a word. I think of the intimacy of the moment and how completely I want that. I think of how this will never come to pass.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken from Pinterest, original source unknown.


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Dripping secrets

Midnight blue ink

as an extension of her soul.

Dripping secrets from her fingers,

her pen spoke louder than her voice.

With a whisper he moved closer to hear,

her sweet accent echoing

within the chambers of his heart.

With words that gave voice

to unspoken desires,

to an intimacy in simple things,

he found the key to unlock

what had been imprisoned

within his soul.

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©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced.