Where Fireflies Dance

A poem in free verse

The dark centres of her eyes call to me as sirens,
across savage oceans of bubbling seafoam –
green and brown heterochromatic whirlpools –
that suck men under.
I would be foolish,
a foolish man,
to think there was any salvation to be found inside,
yet this voyage has thrashed any resilience I might have had.
I lean in,
take her lips between mine,
knead them softly,
delicately,
with purpose,
as if working clay,
which would be presented to an Emperor.
She was sculpted by higher beings.
I work my fingers into her supple thighs,
breaking her down,
releasing her to me.
My blood pumps hot inside me –
inside her.
A heat to make the waters rise and flood the land,
crashing on the shores where fireflies dance, at night around the fire.
All things which make men different from animals,
washed out to sea.

When I wake up, she is gone.
I am alone, again.
This cursed island,
echoes laughter in the buzzing of insects.
Sandflies ravage my skin into a reddened map of islands,
which offer me no bearing.
The urge to tear flesh with my nails is consuming –
as do minute residents, to my flesh.
The carcass of my ship, still half buried in the beach,
as whale bones,
a rotting skeletal wreck,
disappearing and resurfacing with the tidal forces,
haunting me,
the ghost of my ruin.
I think of her –
the lady of the island,
who has made her home in the hours of my dark recess.
She taunts and tortures me,
with her wicked seductions,
and promises of deliverance.

May I see her in the lonely night,
I beg.

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Original story by © Darius the Mate

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