Crest

 

Deep.  Deep in thelemic thought, her

words spill sour, salted by a power

that cowers and spits, shoaling rocks

into desolate fetch, coveting a polyandry.

 

Exiled.  Exiled she lies, and lies. Coursed

and cobbled. Smooth blissful pebbles

that awake wrecked memories, and hopes

of calm oceans being neither here or there.

 

Caught. Caught in a squall ‘twixt two seas,

that tempt this temptress to summon tempest,

blowing gorse to prick blood of lust from the

rogue wave that shoals below forbidden crag.

 

Turning. Turning to hear sand sing a surge,

an erg of serendipity. Chilled by heat of dense

dust that rises, she’s surprised by the slide down

a slipface that holds charm of a desert denied.

 

Awaiting. Awaiting a disgrace, shapeshifting

of the shoreline brings dark and light to fight.

Through inevitable stoning, pebbles disperse –

doing their worst. Does she drown, or does she burn?

 

© Katypoetess 2013

 

abermawr3

 

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