deep in the billows of the briny sea

the flux and wane of the currents

seemingly breath

silvery beads glimmer on the shifting surface

swirling and fleeing like glittering thieves

but beneath it churns

hundred-year-old ghosts

stories only spoken upon the lips

of sailors of so many oceans

fingers grimy with salt and sores and fish guts

he shushes those who listen

finger to mouth, taste on the tongue

a grinning row of yellow secrets

heed me young ones, i don't tell tall tales

the creatures that reside on the ocean's floor are best left where

the sun can't reveal their horrid scales

he turns toward the expanse of frothing

anger on the horizon, it does dance

it reflects off of the deep muck of his eyes

somewhere in there a creature breathes

and no one's ever seen it alive

a/n: isn't she lovely?