False Lights

I am a true smuggler.

Wrecker of hearts and ships.

Treasure-seeking pleasure eater.

Salvaging bejewelled raiments of Kings

With which to occupy my indolent fingers

Amuses me.

My lullaby is the death knell of ships, as is

The gentle rolling stroke of pearls spilled from coffers.

I luxuriate in my litheness,

Arching my back against cool, hard sand.

Face always towards the waves.

The sea breeze dries me,

Flowing over the gentle contours of my lovely self.

My back arched as if in ecstasy

Or the memory of it relived.

Mind aquiver, as my body rests

before the next tempest.

 

© Tom Tide 2016

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