draft

haunted


You’re either a poet or a poem.
I’m a poet
and you my poem.
you hunt my hours.

the ticking of the clock is your breaths,
they echo in my heavy breast.
your hunting whispers to me
a seductive heavy exhale.

oh, merman, you murmur a hunting siren
the ocean amplifies it until it is a foghorn
and the only safe shore is the rocks
your hunting are waves that drown me

then raises me to air and words.
I am a fish and you a monger
I am a poet and you my fish
I am your poem and you are hunting.


Ariel