The Sock Drawer - 16. The Swamp

The Swamp

A fragrant swamp

That's what it is.

A fragrant swamp of warmth and bliss.

You sink in deep, tempted to sleep

Your vision grows dim, and if you don't learn to swim

You will drown as it pulls you down

But it's so beautiful

It's so safe and warm and healthy.

There's pressure from all sides, but it's tender.

Soft, hot, living tissue surrounds you like a body.

Its pulse replaces your own.

There's a hitch in your heart when those eyes bear down on you from that sky.

And you stop breathing when you hear this song of a voice.

Then you draw in what you expect to be air.

But it's the scent of the swamp, nothing else is there.

From now on, you are breathing the bog, if you can breathe at all.

And your bloodstream is nourished with this steam and liquid from all around.

The Master of the marsh looms over you, tall

While you just lie there, and look up in a daze.

The figure over you sort of gleams in the haze.

He bears into you with his unyielding gaze.

You’re intoxicated with this, and the dizziness grows.

You’re becoming a sigh, your lowly meekness shows.

The Master’s eyes keep staring, and you think he knows.

Everything, why you’re there, why it’s you.

And you have no idea where you are and what to do.

This comfort feels strange, it frightens you a bit.

It’s heating you up.

Love, is it?