By: K. A. Opperman

Her human torso glistens in the sun,

A golden siren, goddess of the sea—

But underneath, where darkling currents run,

Eight tentacles are writhing wrathfully.

Born of the kraken, daughter of the deeps,

Temptress of men who seek some splashing sport,

She serves a vast leviathan who sleeps

For centuries in his abyssal court.

Great galleons, dragged down with mythic strength,

She sends as treasure to her sunken king—

But human hearts, seduced at any length,

She keeps as trophies, one for every fling.

Locked in her suckered clutch, her wet caress,

Men taste dark pleasures never dreamed on land….

Unknowingly they seek the krakeness,

And now their bones are buried in the sand.

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