Caia Maris

Thunder crashes into me

as I step from the threshold

sprinting down a misty hallway

Fog rises up my ankles

and the air, electric

with the touch of cold hands

playing my spine

like a lyre

Struggling to remember a face

when comes the chill of a spirit

who pursues

and obsesses

as I look down to behold

myself donned

in a white gown.

French doors blown wide

by the whirlwinds

Gazing

to the edge of a stone balcony

The sky raining hail

lead tears raining down

assaulting,

screaming upon the stone

as I glimpse him in the darkness

standing in the marshes below.

I shut my eyes

and grip tightly the door handles

Deep black eyes searching mine

through the distance

like a spirit who longs for his bride.

His is the sight I cannot bear

pale green

his scaly flesh

that tone

his descendants proudly boasted

along barren coastal shantytowns

Webbed digits

dotted with suckers

the frightful, but marvellous

genetic adaptation.

The horrifying fishy tendrils

that protrude and perturb

facial extremities

for an infamous cephalopod

need not speak to invoke fear.

His is the image

that summons madness

and confusion

So grotesque

I could not bear to look upon him

and yet

As I gaze out these doors

a sadness falls upon my face.

An alien sympathy on these silver lips.

I know this place

and my mate

as well as I know myself

always together

yet forever apart,

pursuing one another.

A sadness graces me

as we two halves

play the game.

Strangers came to our marble halls.

citing platitudes and bearing gifts

yet I cannot recall

why they have come.

A shadowy slumber

passes over me

and I find my way back

to a single bed

where I fall into dreaming

once  more.

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