African Nymph

Nothing but the torn clothes of numerous sailor men,

She waits

Beneath the depths of the sea
All whilst you’re wandering
Along this current of transformation and exploration.

All the while she waits for you to see her beauty.
Waiting. Waiting

You know not her name for she has none. Not one.
All you need is your memory, for it is the last you shall have after meeting her.
This creature.

You know not her name, but the memory of her lips
And she, knows not your name
She cares not for it
For now, she has your soul.

The sweet yearning her aura inspires

Laying upon that rock untouched
Supple and willing
Wicked yet alluringly innocent

Her voice sang an unknown song
A mythical weapon.

You hear her song and see her glorious beauty
Enchanting you, with no thought of dismay

That you are about to drown yourself
All just to lose yourself in the supple apex of her thighs.

You close your eyes and free your mind
She sees this and takes heed

And welcomes you into her lair

Into her rolling Sea…

Allowing you to lose sight of all you see

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