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belbere Apr 2021
what a wicked thing i was.
i turned back, anyway.

the devil i dealt with 
wasn’t a devil at all,
it called itself her fate,
took my place by her side
and told her it was time to go, 
everyone was waiting 
down below,

the devil she dealt with 
wasn’t a devil at all, 
i called myself her lover, 
and she loved me in kind, 
and when she’d gone
i couldn’t understand
why she’d leave me behind,

if nothing else
i had to see her
one last time,

the devil we dealt with 
wasn’t a devil at all,
it called itself inevitable
yet decided to let us go,
said it would see us again
one day, together 
down below,

i didn’t think to ask her
what she wanted,
if the hands of fate
were warmer than my own. 
if i had kept on looking forward, 
maybe i would know.

what a wicked thing i was. 
i turned back, anyway. 

                                                       ­                                       "was she upset?"

i couldn’t say. 
she smiled the whole time,
and when she disappeared
it was all she left behind.
if orpheus and eurydice was a lesbian tragedy
Zoe Mei Apr 2021
May the gods drink deep your blood
and may the crimson please their gaze
and may the iron scent whet their lust
that the taste may sate it
for you are my greatest offering.
For Iphigenia
Elaenor Aisling Mar 2021
His touch was
like sunlight on my skin
the sweeping skim of kelp across marbled coat
his webbed fingers tracking their rough edges
through the sand.
In the storm's howl he was calm
the chaos of waves in my belly slowed
an unearthly peace
of tide-pool eyes that stilled the seventh stream.  
The waves roll out and the waves roll in
and out my love rolls with them.
Seven tears shed at Spring tide
for love of a man
whose heart
is sea bound,
sealed.
Orkney Selkie Legend: http://www.orkneyjar.com/folklore/selkiefolk/ursilla.htm
Nick Stiltner Mar 2021
When is when is when is
The next moment I will stand on this shore, looking out into the bay?
Who will I be and how will I see this same scene then?

How will I see again, the morning rising illuminating the tide, it’s misted glow refracting in all directions?

How will I hear again, the gull’s cry, a higher song hovering over the soft sway of the water, it’s lapping connection to the shore, gone now but always on its reverberating journey back?

How will the water feel on my feet, in early spring and then in ebbing twilight? Will I stand strong and blooming, or will I hunch and wither in decay, in memories of a long forgotten brighter day?

Will the salt spray still fill my nose, will its memory be etched in me always?

There is no sure way to know, no sure path we can follow, I say to myself.
When I return I will be him and he will have came from me, formed in the bubbling foam of my memories of this swaying sea.
But in my melancholy daze upon departure,
a vision appears to me as if a dream:

“Be gone!”
A mirage of the goddess Brizo comes to me, sitting alone in a galley bobbing along with the waves.
“Be gone! Hold not your journey in contempt, be scared not of the changing tides!
You have your vessel as I have mine, the sea is strong but not impassible!
Adjust your sails, redirect your mind, the wisdom of the sea follows, to any height you can climb!
The power is you, shed light on what you know to be true, look in the water and be calmed, know that you are you!

Be gone! Go from me, away from this fading part of your journey,
There is still much of the world to see!
Do not linger, do not hesitate,
Do not be contented, with a hazy view of the sea from your seat on the shore!”
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