Night Siren

by Therese Elaine

We are the night sirens
nocturnal tempests of
narcotic temptation
We beckon
and you are emboldened
You tangle yourself
in the smoky tendrils
of compulsion
and you scent us like prey
while you wait to be
by opium kisses
and whispered
whiskey endearments
We're your own private
five alarm fire
the sleek heat of us
the last vestiges of
and you spill yourself
your secrets
into us
Some things can only be shared
when neon signs
limn limbs
and the city breathes
damply around you
and the cries still
to faded wallpaper
and crumbling crown molding
have reshaped
the general landscape
Our baroque curves
and bordello sensibilities
are the new territory
that you've claimed
We are twilight's nightingales
and we sing our songs
inside your skin
inhaling your
gasped confessions
late-night plea bargains
we trade sin for
and the sounds
of slick
We are the night sirens
we sleep alone
because it's easier
than ruining our morning ritual
of coffee and a cigarette
So we don our dignity
and our silk robes
and we show you the door
We know you'd stay
and that's enough
to make the leave-taking less
You will go back
to that daytime world
and your daytime woman
and your daytime secrets
and you'll suck us off of your
And wait for the sun
to go


Author's Note: Reverse muse...be careful what you ask for...*wicked grin*

Posted on 01/19/2010
Copyright © 2021 Therese Elaine

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by V. Blake on 01/19/10 at 12:04 AM

Because it bears repeating: This is better than anything I've ever written, and will ever write. There's no one in the world that can write like you, Therese.

Posted by Michael Smith on 01/19/10 at 12:14 AM

I get an image of Leonard Cohen's Sisters of Mercy meets Deadwood's brothel... anyway, the empowerment behind this piece is a perspective that always intrigues me.

Wonderful achievements with words here, some very sly combinations with very effective instances of consonance. I think the thing that stands out most about this (aside from how well it reads) is that the language and word choice is perfect, where it's not so grand and syllabic that you trip over it but it's bold enough that you are endowed.

Superb, Therese.

Posted by Steven Kenworthy on 01/19/10 at 01:23 AM

first off...i like the changeup in format. it's quick, punchy and strong...kinda like your personality. your adjectives are phenomenal and add tons of flavor. i don't think i have this many in my vocabulary. so well done miss. so well...

Posted by Sarah Wolf on 01/19/10 at 02:06 AM

This sort of made me feel like I was walking in the city with the girls that somehow turned into an enchanted forest.

Posted by Amie Golda on 01/19/10 at 08:54 AM

Dark and mysterious but at the same time enchanting and bold. The tone is perfect as is the rhythm and the words are superb dark chocolate drops filled with a bite of poison as you reveal the world's secret sins. *wicked wink*

Posted by Ken Harnisch on 01/19/10 at 05:03 PM

"Nocturnal tempests of narcotic temptation indeed,Therese," he smiled, trying to catch his breath and wondering why..:0

Posted by Nicole D Gregory on 01/19/10 at 09:07 PM

This gave me goosebumps and brought me to a familiar place that I don't think I am yet able to write about ... and now... its written. Your used of words in the weave of the expressions are BEAUTIFUL, like you. This is complex in nature and beast with simple sentences so that even the most humble man knows... oh he knows... This is EXCELLENT! A Fave of mine! ~N

Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 01/20/10 at 05:44 PM

Your poetry soars through my very bones!

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/21/10 at 04:59 PM

A disturbing, totally compelling world you create here, so very well done.

Posted by Laura Doom on 01/21/10 at 11:46 PM

A strip of convention -- what squirms beneath conditioning...this drips quality.

Posted by Rachel Bennett on 01/22/10 at 04:43 AM

Ohmigosh. "Our baroque curves / and bordello sensibilities / are the new territory / that you've claimed / We are twilight's nightingales / and we sing our songs / inside your skin / inhaling your exhalations" The whole poem is chock full of awesome word choice. I'll admit that at first I was intimidated by the length, but when I started reading I realized there was no reason for that. Thanks for writing this great poem!

Posted by Melissa Arel on 01/22/10 at 01:48 PM

holy crap. this is just on a whole 'nuther level! awesome.

Posted by Nanette Bellman on 01/25/10 at 04:30 AM

I love the way you were able to take something that society frowns upon and deems as dirty, and make it so beautiful. ;)

Posted by Jared Fladeland on 01/25/10 at 07:46 AM

this is so: "Blue jazz"... whatever that means to you. the vocal quality mixed between a gentle whisper and a soul singer

Posted by Richard Paez on 01/26/10 at 01:36 AM

“Reverse muse” indeed. There is a point in this poem, a stanza's worth of lines, where the speaker and her silent cohort literally become the architecture of the city. There is something about the oldest profession which is intimately linked to the city, and every city deserving of the title has a strip that looks exactly as you described it and which, whether they are there currently or not, has the look and feel of the Night Sirens. I went there once and I remember exactly how it was (I always will), and while my experience was under Miami neon, it felt like this poem, like New Orleans baroque curves. And yes, the devourer is devoured: the hunt is always flipped. And “the sleek heat of us/consumes/the last vestiges of/hesitation/***and you spill yourself/your secrets/into us***/Some things can only be shared/when neon signs/limn limbs/and the city breathes – yes, that is exactly what it is like (asterisks to denote particularly amazing amazing, btw). And yes, this is an amazing poem.

Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 01/27/10 at 02:14 AM

What's left to say? lol Awesome writing indeed!

Posted by Scott Utley on 01/27/10 at 08:36 PM

Curse you and your brilliant mind for not allowing my lazy mind to skate by as it is wont to do on nicotine and memories. The world is full of mostly 'who cares', but you do. Bravo!

Posted by Joan Serratelli on 01/27/10 at 09:15 PM

The more I read, the more I like. Excellent work- but that's been said.

Posted by Richard Colinson on 02/09/10 at 12:54 PM

Like others have said, this is awesome! Wonderfully evocative and incredibly slick. Congratulations on poem of the day.

Posted by Nicole D Gregory on 02/09/10 at 02:40 PM

Whoo-Hoo!!! Life just keeps getting better ;) Congrats on POTD!!! Although, everything you've written should be EVERY day! ~N

Posted by Jim Benz on 02/09/10 at 03:53 PM

"we sing our songs / inside your skin" - I like that. Terrific poem Therese.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/09/10 at 10:00 PM

Great to see this as POTD!

Posted by Michael Smith on 02/10/10 at 02:22 AM

Oh awesome! Totally deserved POTD. Congrats, Ms. Boling!

Posted by Shossana Dreyfus on 03/21/10 at 08:50 AM

wow ... I feel very identified with this ...

Posted by Glenn Currier on 06/28/10 at 02:03 PM

I sure do like the ebb and flow of this poem. I kept hearing two voices: one - the opiate and the other - the mind/self - both in creative conversation wandering and wondering. You had me hooked from the first line. Thanks.

Posted by James Zealy on 07/06/10 at 09:42 PM

In the moment of need, is it love, is it lust is it compulsion, or deliverance from a personal hell on earth. Their are those that can never be conformed and I suspect conformance is not a requirement.

Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 05/26/11 at 09:00 AM

sexy in all the right ways. i feel so delightfully dirty.

Posted by James Zealy on 10/03/11 at 06:13 AM

For sirens of the night, its at times more than the money, as part psychologist, part mistress and part balm to an injured soul. The siren is hidden from view until she is not, the secrets she holds are hers until they are not, and the men she entertains are depend on her until they don't. Its the nature of the profession, and very well stated.

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