To be shipwrecked

The head-rush is not
as instant as one
would think.
There is a settling
of iron in your
circulation, first.
Sweat retreats back
through your pores.
Then her empty
eyes ring like crystal
under a wet thumb.
And you pray to be deaf,
or blind.
Sirens perch on
her eyelashes,
inviting you into a paradise
filled with shattered hulls
and stories you don't get the endings of.
.....
possible nicknames continued
.....
Double-stitch,
sweet pea. Don't ever
let me rip you open.