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the mermaid (i)



She tells me her name is dove dark chocolate
mermaid, and she makes me smile,
she of the beams of moonlight
and those perfect and rounded
– rounded but unblunt,
no, never ever blunted – words.

She tells me ripe
roasted bean,
and I think her treacle:
warm and sweet and thick and set
and delightful and yet
something else within.

I smile. I know words are never
what they seem,
never photographs
but always depths, abysses
where things can hide,
anonymity, second life

metaphors of what was,
might be, could have been.
Sometimes beginnings, prologues:
Call me Mermaid.
Once upon a time.
Someday [fill in the blanks
with the poison of choice,
my beginning my end
my life
my train my time my piece
peace apocalyptic or another
nothingness] will come.
Or yet, I say
One fine and splendorous day.
It is a truth universally acknowledged.
And sometimes words are endings,
Call me Mermaid.
© Nina Light

feature image found here.

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