Erotic Poem | Stygian, by V. A. Cates

In this chasmic realm
my ink is my weapon,
not my song–no;
songs are for above the waves,
to lure sailors
with their engorged cocks
and their ropey limbs
and their salt-crusted faces,
sweaty and uncomprehending,
until it’s too late.

Silent currents coil
and uncoil like octopus limbs.
Here, my arms are strong
my fins like sickles,
as I swim him down
through unfathomable dark,
to stygian depths.
My kin avert their eyes;
Another one, they chant,
another for her collection.

Into my shipwreck I steer him,
into my bed of silt I lay him.
The slits at my throat filter oxygen–
his precious currency–
so I kiss his frigid lips and breathe
a gasp into him that he
releases, his shaft jerking in my webbed fingers
One final triumph of man.
I’m gentle, unlike my monstrous ancestors;
their scorn is not my scorn.

We do not remember why
we were cursed to lure men into the sea.
There was a reason, once, long ago
lost now to the centuries.
His seed rises, a broken string of pearls,
while I fill him with my ink,
ejecting it into his open mouth,
to preserve him,
until the next one,
because I hate to be alone.