Pitter Patter

They look at me unknowingly.
A creature of a mythical past.
Hair of cinnamon sprinkles and fins of urban legend scales.
Windmills of honey and grim reaper tales.
I flip over sea shells and breathe with aquamarine lungs.
Scarlet eyes and white lights.
Magic combs and unknown explorers.
They crave curiosity, but fear the unexpected.
I speckle and sparkle with sunlit orbs and champagne bubbles.
Leave me in these caverns of sea salt and amethyst.
Crystals that decorate my ivory neck and soft-spun wrists.
Collide against my collarbone as gently as a ballerina’s footsteps.

Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

The eyes of men may pay me no matter.
But then, I am sweet, siren chaos.
A hurricane that can steer their ships ashore.
I blossom in snow and beckon them.
A virgin bride decorated in the cloth of sails and savory wind.
I announce myself.
Brilliant blues and predator stares.
The spells of time will lead them to believe I long for legs.
For long limbs, that bestow grace and succulent lace.
The ripples I make are not from toes or pins,
but from a fin, of jewels and coral powder, seaweed and pink delicacy.
And the tides of men will continue to scatter.

Pitter patter. Pitter patter.


  1. Nice one. Poetically poetic.

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