Siren Lure

The legendary mariner Odysseus had heard of their song—beautiful and deadly. He wanted to be tied to the mast, his crew's ears covered, that he might hear the Sirens' voices.

I think I know something of his torment.

How long have you been in my dreams?

I see you from afar—a name in phosphor or a long-distance voice. Sometimes together at conferences, but never close enough to touch.

The Sirens' sweet singing lured seamen to their doom.

I heard your song one evening, last year, in Lisbon. Sitting in the hotel bar, almost touching. We leaned toward one another, our lips close—our breath mingled. We turned away that time.

Last night, we did not turn away.

Our moments are pages from some vast photo album, savored later and forever.

A thick shaft of dusky light caressed you from behind as you knelt astride me—your hair was an angel's fiery halo. Our blood, older and wiser than we, sang harmonies from the primordial salt. A glow rose in your cheeks, spread across your lips, down your neck, and splashed across your breasts.

We entwined like serpents and no forbidden fruit was ever sweeter. Ecstasy attacked your body like asps, my queen-goddess gasping a half dozen incarnations in a single night.

After our sacred dance, I enfolded you in my arms and dreamt sweet dreams that could never come true—whispering them softly into your ears.

In the morning light you looked beautiful as you left to catch your plane. By tonight, thousands of miles will separate us. But our night in Milan, when I followed your song and was not lost, will be ours forever.