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