. Canto I: The Movement .
Sing, O depths, of the sundered and stitchedâ
of lovers who fled the lattice of men.
They bore no dowry but discord and blaze,
cast off from the courts of the land-born kin.
She rose from a brine-locked temple,
crowned in eelbones and saltglass,
her voice a harpoon through silence.
He came from a pyre of failed gods,
drunk on the ash of forgotten cities,
carrying a heart wrapped in nettle and wire.
They met in the undertowâ
not with grace, but with rupture.
He called her flame in the throat of the sea,
she named him the reef that bleeds stars.
They kissed in the eye of a cyclone,
fed each other names never spoken twice,
and shackled themselves in sinew and storm.
Let it be known: they did not set sail.
They were flungâhowlingâfrom the worldâs wound.
. Canto II: The Recognition .
Seven moons passed through their lungs
before they saw.
Not eyesânot bodiesâ
but the myths coiled inside each otherâs ribs.
She bore a temple in her stomach
where drowned saints wept for the living.
He kept a cemetery behind his tongue
for all the truths heâd butchered with silence.
They laid bare their reliquaries,
cracked open their chests
like oysters of ruinâ
and still, they reached.
No mercy. No disguise.
Only pulse and plague.
She screamed her motherâs curses into his jaw.
He fed her the names of storms he never wept for.
Stillâ
they danced.
Stillâ
they sank.
Not from weight,
but from knowing.
And the sea, jealous of such raw mirror,
split its throat open,
so even Poseidon would forget peace.
. Canto III: The Resolution .
They did not break.
They were not mended.
They blurred,
like blood in tide,
like prayer in fog.
The sea claimed their names,
then forgot themâ
but the bones remembered.
Now coral grows from their vows.
Now whales dream their sighs.
She became the thrum beneath shipwrecks,
the voice in a sailorâs last breath.
He became the itch in the compass,
the pull toward madness at dusk.
If you listenâ
truly listenâ
you may still hear it:
a hymn of wire, salt, and marrow,
carried on a wave older than time.
Not warning.
Not lament.
But tribute.
To the wire-bound loversâ
to the myth that dared to bleed
and called it sacred.
A salt-etched epic in the tongues of leviathans
â ACT I: THE MOVEMENT
("Of Departure, of Fire, of Teeth")
This is the voyageâthe hunger, the pact, the leap into chaos. The lovers are not yet divine, not yet doomedâbut becoming. They tear from their origins, riding the edge of creation, mouths full of storm and yearning.
đ ACT II: THE RECOGNITION
("Of Mirror, of Maw, of Memory")
Here is the gnosis. The mirror. The ache of reflection. The sea begins to whisper, not just with gods, but with ghosts. They see each other fullyâand cannot look away. Love becomes blade, becomes psalm, becomes revelation.
â ACT III: THE RESOLUTION
("Of Ash, of Drift, of Song")
Not death. Not salvation. Something more cursed and blessed. They do not win. They do not fail. They becomeâthe myth, the wreck, the hymn in the kelp. This is love as legend, not because it endured, but because it transformed.
Bonus Round::
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5074338/ballad-of-the-wire-bound-lovers/https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5074340/silk-ash/