our mothers warn us that we'll think he's handsome,
For he appears with Green eyes, copper skin,
A mouth tender as a child's
But If you fall into his arms
He sprouts Horns, fangs, claws, fins.
His feet are joined as one and his skin,
Brass scales, rings to the touch.
You're fascinated, You cannot move.
He casts a a shell necklace at your feet,
Weeps gleaming chips that harden into mica on your breasts
He holds you under
Then he takes your body of a lion, a fat brown worm or a familiar man
He's made of gold,
He's made of breach moss
He's a thing of dry foam, a thing of death by drowning
A death no woman can escape