Siren of the Sea

He beckons me forth,

my sanded toes dusted like candied fruit,

ready to be washed clean

by the delicate froth of white salted foam.

The hush of his tide brushes my bones,

black glass whispers,

rhythmic charm,

his fingers, luminous,

glint blue as he parades the coast,

curling around my ankles.

The moon sways,

singing silvered lullabies

rocking the earth

so that he sloshes, just so,

like the tilt of a glass

to your lips.

How could you not want to take

just one long, slow, sip?

I long to taste the briny wonder of that deep,

to float upon belonging.

The wind crests over the rolling water,

wrapping me in his cashmere grip,

damp earth, the raw green of kelp,

and butterscotch,

as if the sun had spun sugar

from his sweetness on the shore of day

and left it here in the breeze of night

to cool.

I wade into that ink,

assured by the calm and the air's friendly warmth

until I am marine to my middle.

My lips part in tendered sigh,

for at last, I feel I have found home,

but then, the sweeping of my heart

becomes the sweeping of my feet from under me.

I am dragged along the floor,

waves undulating viciously,

taking the whole of me with merciless desire.

His currents replace my breath,

my thoughts circling,

as if swirling into the drain,

I wanted to be a siren,

and didn't realize the sea was he.