It was only two seconds and a half she given me to see her wholly, could remember then the many nymphs my father adores, the nature where he casts new species on earth as well, the mortals who die by such admirable beauty, an enlightening figure who traps you from the highest source nor even a God or Goddess could tolerate for longer. If he became Eros to craft the very constellation he could become anything as the sole creator. This poor woman has never seen a man who posed with such beauty in one body. A skin soft as petals who perfumed your nostrils in a trance before your touch, a vibrant laziness like whom never stop vividly at the same time a lovely father and Zeus. This poor woman was in love with a man, poor mortal and she wished domination on her affairs, she was performing by the reasons of her tears how to make her act. But why did she stop with my song, if divination comes on abstract form who are reading her spirit by the portraying sound. Blank as hidden pearls, hidden bones ready to convert into an entailing mermaid. 

  In a solitary day when the city is busy a timeless sound tuned with dramatic musical change, a pause between noise and heaven maybe blinded by the light above the water listened yet to her heart bit, composing a translation through music with mystical notes across the wind we shared not so distant to perceive each other's tragedy, yet from divine pasts. My neck tall sustaining with anchor my head as a vessel who caresses the surface of the sea to ring her the alarming last breath of a siren, could be alive for a while above the waters to call my daughters. 

  Some would call my songs to be impressionist as the paintings of Monet or Reinor. Pale sweet pinks and blues. Imagination composes an equalled embrace who exhale you to exist, even in the most wear forms into the unknown my long hairs flowed thoroughly in this winter's breeze brushing her impossible plans, this sources of inspiration pioneering a path to a new existence and yet how audacious of me to keep singing without anyone to be applaud but her lonesome to believe I'm not a creature's myth, is not a remote song towards her. Reasons pause with the mind sets, the goal orientations she was thought, her civilian mothers and female ancestors voiced in her mind for a last time while an enriching opera opened her eyes to the sparkling theatre of nature.

  Influencing the seagulls to turn their wings in soothing palpitations nearly yet not moving their wings on a rounded long plain and the waves calming down, sometimes I slap them to quiet and they listen to me they take me afloat this place, guiding me to meet those who need a muse. Not from Olympus, since no prophet has record the reasons of my story, she knew we are called monsters of seduction, she felt in from the humming echo in first person a rubbishing wildness. A shinny salty radiance too whom a revivalist hymn horns out for the a woman's will to relate profoundly in her own, washing away the acoustic revenge whom my voice reliefs from pain. Listener's of the mind beyond poetry but sensation started to draw a desire in me and her to expand her thorax, as I impaled love from my bare breast unashamed of purity by the sharp instrument of transmitting her hidden voice. 

    Hypnotised or not, who knows for how much I believed in those who follow into the deepest waters have found memorable tunes beyond perfect jobs by an open melody who hushed chords in a perpetual ambiance. Enchanted or not, who knows for I believed she could feel noticed and attracted as no other mortal has ever understood her dark pages, she could then see that there is nothing to win, deftly of speech in a city who speaks another language. A female's realm she nearly stepped forward and she knew well as the air painted silently the night and the first stars glimmered that if she if she gave herself a single step the craftsmanship would never see her in the same form she was.