On the greyest of my days, silt and salt settle on my thoughts. I savor the saline tang of time and pain intertwined. Lessons learned in the twilight of laughter buried in lead. Tidal kisses wash over my skin, provoking the Siren within. I beckon with provocative dread, prayers framed in erotic tirade. Come closer, ignoring the tempest and falling prey to the tortured charade. Together we will gasp for our last breath, reunited and consummated, on the brightest of my days.
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To me, down to the last line, this definitely evokes the image of a siren. Beautiful, and so worth the giving of one’s last breath.
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Did you know that Sirens can cry? Soft smile.
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Sirens can cry. But, not all tears are bad. Especially those that are punctuated with moans and trembling sighs.
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Seems you are also aware that men can be Sirens, too.
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