Femme Fatale

Eyes bluer than the ocean at storm,
the depths of which I know not what
lives below, what beautiful creatures
lurk beneath the waves of her
irises—an abyss of great wonder and

mystery, as if to remind each mortal
of her origin and from where she
came—how out of chaos
she was born and created, how
chaos harkens to her call—

she beckons, beauty far greater
than Aphrodite, a goddess unto
herself with the lure of sirens
but without malicious intent—
like Calypso: just in love with

freedom; and I, but a humble
sailor, have sailed directly into
her cesspool—an insignificant
photon drawn deep into
the singularity of her being, unable

to leave her attraction, unable
to escape her gravity—I am
hooked—the more I learn, the more
I talk to her, the more I want
to know more and be near her—

and when I finally wash up on shore
purging my lungs, she still appears
from the water, beckoning
and calling me—I realize I breathe not
the ocean, but I breathe in her.

Tags: Sad, Love, Imagery, Wishful,