Sink Low

A poem

Sink low with me, Siren.
Right here,
Beneath the
Shattered sea-glass,
The glass that moves
When you do and
Makes room for
Dove-bar skin and that
Fragrance —
What is it again?
Green tea lily.
The one that drifts
Off the very nape
Of your bird-bone
neck and teases me.

You’re ready now?
Good, me too, I guess.
Ready as I’ll ever be.

Close your eyes, Siren,
Sink low with me and
We’re gonna
Plunge beneath
Those holy fragments
Of the perfect, broken sea.

We are sinking now.
You feel it too,
Cool liquid in your veins?
Oh, that just means —
It will be okay, I swear!
You’re alone with me.
But, Siren?
Please don’t
Hold your breath.

I want to hear you breathing,
When you’re alone

With me.