by Ryley Craig
He plays my spine like the piano
My ribs separated
Crafted into flutes
My ligaments stretched tight
the strings to his violin
My clavicle misshapen into the trumpet
My index fingers the baton he conducts with
Nail manicured – he prefers a French tip
I am an orchestra
He my conductor
The symphonies of Dracula and desire
Masquerades and murder
A guise of mercy
Ethereal
Tragic
Our audience slighted
Lure to the impure
Or more commonly
The men
White gray haze in the eyes
Like those who have drowned
Welcome in
Come stay for a tune
Even better the grande finale
A surprise I won’t spoil
The title above the doors
The lights flickering around it
We are
I am
Sirena
The siren