Droplets gather upon the bathroom mirror,
Steam thickening the air.
I do not know why she has called me in,
But I see her body agleam beneath the shower;
A sultry hand beckoning me forward.
This must be what a sailor sees
Before a siren claims her prize -
I suddenly understand
Why I am alive.
She pulls me beneath the cascading
Water, clothes and all,
Sweet hands upon my shoulders,
Neck, and then jaw.
I am malleable beneath those hands;
My eyes close, forgetting to breathe...
This must be what a siren sees
As a sailor blissfully dies.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
