Wordle #79

Week 79

The cold caress of pelagic eyes

Over my still dripping wounds,

Once enunciated rejection is futile.

What chance offered could be seized?

An organic cynosure,

A fearsome mermaid

Glazed in salt and sand with skin

The color of unshucked oysters.

My heart is a harbor

Into which ships stowaway

Silent as spoons.

Hands raw with distress

I mount the embankment,

A barb-wire smile

Bubbling up from the blue.

I am prepared to die,

To have my sinews

Picked clean and ingested.