Stolen selkie skins:

hang me out to dry in the morning light,
in the lore of long forgotten illusions of lovers
dying out to sea -
we forget it was all a dream.

I thought she was a painting, at first,
perfectly perched on the shore
with fingers laced around the sun and her
belly protruding sickness, her mouth exuding sores
and my heart creating sea salt waves against my breast.

We were the cat and the king -
slinking around her legs, between,
for a taste of something sweet, something sick
from within her.

She painted me the cat, her pet cheetah,
ever obedient and ready to run and
fetch the skin of lovers,
fetch the skin of hearts
that would never love again.