Gorgona the Mermaid

Gorgona said diving is like walking on the Moon:
“You aren’t supposed to go, much less grow to thrive and bloom.
Aren’t supposed to, yet, a maiden, I once sowed a field of lofty plans,
And lo, today, a mermaid takes in air from fancy cans;
She paddles by faux-flippers, like a pair of fatly-fanning slippers,
Though mechanized with dynamos, she remains alike mermaids-of-old.

She entombs, under-water, terra firma forms of motion,
And from bi-ambulation’s grave, her sea blooms corollas of emotion.
A petaled crown whorl ’round her submariner locomotion,
Their unfurling fills her stigma with neutral buoyancy love potion.
She feels weightlessly awash in lust from and for the ocean.
A dissociative identity, her one thought and only notion.

Okeanos singularis. At one with the marine.
A state that lead a pod of delphis to pledge her as a plebe.
This defining moment she believed like setting free,
A child of her own, something she may never see.
This defining moment she decided to take leave-
Her legs behind, high and dry, instead she’d live her days at sea.”