At the fuzzy edges of dreams
The aches begin again, arms no longer there,
Graced and graceful in their wave
Choral melody in perfect tone, her amethyst form dancing.
Ursula sludges awake, the shell ridged under aged flab,
Rough as her memories,
As her ecstatic dreams from when she was whole.
Six tentacles thrash, I will not remember!
Her father’s fury, “You will not sing, dance!”
Seizing her future and slicing it away.
Her lithe limbs gone.
“Focus,” his hiss foamy froth. “Only this.”
His form now long rotted, in the seawater
Caressing her form,
Her tears indistinguishable on her cheek.
Her eels slipping into the lair,
A copper ray of sunshine, born of Triton,
trailing them. For once the child’s melodic form silent.
For a flash:
I could let her go. I’m fighting my father’s fight.
Her aching phantoms.
Her weary form.
A smack of lipstick determination. Turning
“I can make you human, girl.”