The bay nymphs
playfully tug at my soul,
blow Gulf kisses to my cheeks,
and gently entreat me
to slip into the salty depths.
In awe, I succumb
as they take my hand
and guide me to the surf.
Once engulfed, they become
delirious and eagerly
lap over me in waves,
ripple across my flesh,
and fill me with the serenity of ocean.
And yet,
the darkening skies whisper
ominous reminders amidst
the playful giggles and frolic
that the southern gods are seething.
They have been ignored
to the point of tempest
at being crushed under
a host of leather-bound books
that reek of brimstone,
blood-soaked wood,
and hypocrisy.
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