dragging in sun kelp, and moon tides,
and whatever else the maidens tried to hide.
They welcomed me into their spacious room,
full of satin bed-pillows, soaps and tomes.
I recall that my urges were still in full bloom.
I found myself wishing it were my home,
mine to pilfer, devour and roam,
I found myself wishing it were my home.
I recall all the little things they said:
Things like, “Well, then all the better,”
and “If it’s not tonight, it’s forever.”
The evening swelled without warning,
toppling the thick marble of my head.
I wanted nothing to do with morning.
Yet they were kissing each other, instead.
They were neither joyful nor dead—
They were simply kissing each other, instead.
Silvery waves beat against the still night gong.
Quivering faces loom out of the window,
knowing full well it’s the only way to go.
Soon they were losing tooth after tooth,
spitting out the words to their favorite song.
I recall their final words of truth:
“You have done everything wrong,”
they sang as they swam along,
“Yes, you have done everything wrong.”
I recall standing with a furrowed brow,
watching them from the autumn beach,
which has since been flooded with bleach.
They were all I had and we knew it, too,
and they still got away from me, somehow.
I watched my toes slowly turn blue.
“I think I’m ready for the morning, now,”
as all my yesterdays began to bow,
“I think I really want it to be morning, now.”
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