Green as the pirate seas Caribbean, her eyes pulsate with the thundering surf. Majestic squall, power most stygian, lurks just beneath the surface of her mirth.
The salt-filled breeze, a warm westward phantom, imparts its lazy life to flaming locks; brushes the kisses that from angels come, caresses lips, a smile that faintly mocks.
Tropical dress clings to a body lithe, swaying gently on the sand-covered dune gazing at the sea, a creature of myth spoken of in countless stories and rune.
Enchanted, I am drawn to my Siren. She sings for me alone - the least of men.