floundering

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sort of The Flounder and not

 

by the shore lies a rock

it is alone

of it's shape and stories 

told

shaped by Hermes hammers

a bowl that holds

charms from ocean, old,

filling twice daily 

green tainted

magic

at night fishermen 

hanging heavy loads

dip and cleanse 

unshrouded glans

asking of the 

flounder, thus

throne of water maid

show me clear what

coat my love must

wear.

away at sea and bowl

refreshed arrives 

net making lass.

emboldened bare assed

beneath billowing 

layers she sidles

astride the rock

skirts high

making wet

her place dry.

she sings thus

this night make

footsteps stop

at my door

so love 

wanders

nevermore 

by the shore, alone,

lies petticoat red

bleeding promises

left unsaid

 
 
 
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