DUYONG 3

I hear of men who love the sea cow. Pale skinned men, long delirious upon the balmy sea, they crawl ashore hungry, engorged. At the sight of them, she cries, and they think this is a siren song.

 

They ravish her stinking skin, her fleshy teats, with so many groping man hands and wet, open man mouths. One by one, they enter her body and spill so much seed. She cries, and with their spears, they slit her open and taste a feast of almond oil and sumptuous veal. She cries.

 

I am certain my song does not resemble hers.