plucked from the pond of obscurity
is but a siren of sorts
sighing her dulcet songs
splashing me with a satisfying
sweetness
dousing my thoughts and
drowning the sorrows
that have haunted me
like wraiths that swarm the river styx

or perhaps she is a sorceress
with smiles that arouse
rabbles of butterflies
to feed upon my insides
oh, how they flutter about
and feast
how they turn my insides to
worms’ meat

or perhaps she is a gorgon
for a single look
renders my basic motor skills
useless
as i am paralyzed
she etches a
blissful countenance

or perhaps she is an enchantress
greater than circe herself
crafting love potions
from prose and poetry
captivating me with charms
and spells

or perhaps she is all of the above
but it matters not to me
for she is always the girl of the myths
the girl fit for the legends