call of the ocean

She took photographs of seaweed
said she must have been a siren
in a past life
because she still dreamed
of men tangled in green
drowning in the deep blue depths
off the east coast of Canada
not too far from her home town

She said it was a pity she didn’t like men
or she would have drowned all her lovers here
as a sacrifice to the Gods of old
mourning their deaths in photographic art
no one but her would ever get to see

And perhaps I should have ran then
but I loved her stories and the bleakness
of her smile that touched the sadness
in my own

She tasted of toothpaste and cigarettes
the flavour of her clashing
with the strawberry bubble gum
she stole from my tongue the night she kissed me
the amalgamation of foreign tastes setting
my mouth alight
under black summer storm clouds
the sky cracking open
to let the rain fall down upon us
like angry tears from angels
weeping that they could never touch this much beauty

Her hunger for love was like being ripped
apart by a tiger starved of all the things
it needed to stay alive
the buttons of my jeans breaking free from the fabric
in her need to feel my body against hers
as she fought to free me from my clothes
before we made violent love on the cliffs
under the heaving weight of the storm
half drowning in each other
half choking in the torrent
that raged around us

When I woke the next morning
waterlogged and alone
I found she’d left me nothing
but the memory of her touch
on my bruised body
and the camera roll of her suicide

© Indie Adams 2015

Written for Madame Lavender's Pick a List II comp, List 3