The Siren Sings Back

You speak my words
back to me so sweetly.
Folded, and twisted upon
themselves, completely.
Be you song bird?
Be you lark?
Hatched from an ivory egg
with my name-song in your heart?

We are not the product of our circumstance.
Nor are we the summit of our birth.
No, we are at best–
— actions and words.

Should you strike untrue by an inch
you strike Untrue by a mile.
So take heed, and take aim.
May your arrows never stray.

Because we lay naked and adjacent
not just as vessels,
but as souls.
And the lines where I end and you begin
have blurred.  

And if you bend the light round’
the halo on your head,
to blind my eyes instead,
you’ll find a lonely century
without me.

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