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Michael McGuire

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Michael McGuire

The Sirens of Hypothalamus

Over and across oceans and egos,
They will lure any man from shore to sea,
A song with a shiny of sacrifice,
Bated with the taste of what might be.

Never was a beauty more formalized,
The soprano tongue of her temptation,
And you feel like the wind chasing a star,
No longer the dumb show of sublimation.

She stands dressed in your imagination's default, And you a connoisseur of melody,
She has the moon on a chain of mornings,
And you believe you could live off the scraps of this luxury.

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Her price in detail un-calculated,
The slope of her hips; perfection's grade,
But it's your desire that swims madly thru your blood,
She just feeds off the meal you have made.

Will you swim to her island of you,
Distorted by the phantom of the view,
With rose-petal-sex and love in wine,
With angels for lips and the devil's spine,
The milk of her myth to nourish newborn,
And the shoulder of time when the build is shopworn,
Poet of her muse; you write the song she sings, Only ashes delivered in the heat she brings.