Truly, no mother’s intrigue ever captivated a son as yours. It was beyond mortal calculation — a Siren’s call to me, the mariner of my ship. You loosed my bonds from my ship’s mast — not to free me, but to bind me more securely to your purposes: you taunted me to skim the rounded and peaked breasts of your waves, until you sensed my readiness to be tugged by the ropes of your tides, to be sucked down into your magical caverns: there where you left me to linger among your heaped and dazzling treasures, so precious, so pure, so inviolate, that when I tried to remove just one bauble, to bring it with me to the clear air above (for never did I conceive of staying here in the depths), it melted through my fingers and drizzled back to sequester among the glitter, and I was left to sputter and scrabble like a spider up the web of my bubbles back to the surface.
