I see you, mermaid, out on the rocks and the sea foam, sometimes sunning your self, or combing your golden hair with a bone white comb made from a sea shell, or diving in the shallows, and coming up with treasures.

You wear a pink and vibrant anemone in your hair, like a land girl wears a blue flower, and your beauty is stranger and wilder, still untamed in the tempestuous and loving azure oceans.

I swam out to you, and you watched, unsure and suspicious, until you smiled and swam to meet me in those shallows, so clear and warm, and we played like we were children again.

Diving and hiding and finding ourselves in those easy and calm shallows, your aquamarine tail and it’s scales glinting like jewels in the high butterscotch sun, your green eyes flashing with fire.

And as the afternoon fell into twilight, the bright sky because dark and wine colored, you took my hand out past the shallows ancient and brown rocks, past the white and frothing breakers to the open sea.

And you wanted me to follow you, but I cannot breath in deep water, and I am a child of land, and I cannot go with you. You watched me a moment, and then you were gone below the dark, dark waters.

I see you sometimes, back on your sunning rock, or combing your sparkling golden hair with your seashell comb, the scales of your aquamarine tail still brightly bejeweled, and you’ll see me on the shore, and wave and smile.

And I wave back, and wish I could be your consort and love, and I could follow you under those dark, midnight blue waters, to what wonders your know so far below, that two worlds could meet again.

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