Siren Moon

The moon hangs tonight,

Pale, well formed and heavy

A Siren’s breast.

She calls to me

I ache to reach up and pluck her out

Take her from

that barren landscape.

She would fill me up, an overflowing pitcher

of spring rain,

The bittersweet swell and sting of a wayward virgin.

But her absence would leave

an inky ocean

Empty, silent

save the long dead stars

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2 thoughts on “Siren Moon”

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