Bluebeard

He,

man arisen from the depths,

brine-sticky skin all a shipwreck:

broken mast, rotted wood, rusty chest,

lingering in some salty embrace.

Slick ropes of seaweed

flowering, curving round

his treacherous low-hanging beams, his secret, barnacle-bearded caves

drenched in lightlessness,

untrodden, virginal.

Those who dove,

he devoured:

abysmal waves

eroding bloodless blue corpses nestled in his deepest crook,

mists of she-cells drifting off to nourish

some dull toothed fish.

Yet still they came,

diving and dying—

defenseless against his curious temptation.