Preparing To Spawn

Four mermaids with hair the colour of sunset's flame Powered by the need to spawn Slim-waisted above their scales of emerald green With teeth like mother of pearl With ears as small and shapely as soft white mice With darting tongues as pink as sea anemones Sail to the lighthouse, there to careen The lighthouse keepers into coupling Half fish, half mortal their wombs Like conch shells swilling the milk of humankind With the salt of the shifting sea Their breasts like the foamy white of a seagull's rest Their breath like popping bubbles of champagne They will tryst the men from the top of the lighthouse tower Into the clash of the waves, with sensual movements They will bring them ancient ecstasies. Enchantments pour from the back of their silver throats When the lighthouse men return to their stodgy brides They will not speak of their offshore infidelity But will turn in their beds with skin that burns for the tide.