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The Kiss of the Siren by Gustav Wertheimer

What of it that we kissed
under braided strands of moonlight?
Embraced by the conspiratorial night,
we listened with heartbeats
racing pulses and parted lips,
while the sea whispered 
truncated stories of dreams,
shared by intoxicated lovers
who once glowed like glancing stars
on waves born out of desires,
from the secret depths of the heart
flooding fast empty chambers
with hungry swirling waters,
like the sea in her flurry of fury
roaring across the millennium
the memories of a love 
that broke across the shore
of this beach, where we, in darkness
lie tonight, ignoring her salty voice
as pleasure ascended waves upon waves 
silver tipped, blessed by the moon in her glory
only to dry up like forgotten saltwater,
among silent entangled seaweeds
dismally washed ashore on the morning after 
of this brief summer story
etched in the shifting memory
of this warm golden sand,
where the sea briefly touches …
the dry elusive land.

“The Siren” by John William Waterhouse (circa 1900)