She will take all that she can get from me

My siren who does not have a voice to beckon

It is her skin which sings to me

I have crushed her throat with rocks

And gathered her shimmering breast in my sweating mouth

I polish her with a sick tongue

For she is my possession

And I must make her shine

To touch her and to hear her sigh

Long and deep sighs heavy on her lips

And not to hear her voice

Instead, her body so feeble in my hands

And then how silent she becomes

When I lay beside her: finished, done.

I do not care what she dreams

I only want her siren flesh

To fold into it like her scent of vanilla

Her silences are empty to me, I do not listen

Is she weeping in bed? I kick at her white legs

The paleness of her body is the moon in this black room

She wishes for sleep

But I spread my thick hands over her again

Demanding my siren to sigh for me

And when she is alone she will be silent

No, I do not care for her voice