Eyes bluer than the ocean at storm, the depths of which I know not what lives below, what beautiful creatures lurk beneath the waves of her irises—an abyss of great wonder and mystery, as if to remind each mortal of her origin and from where she came—how out of chaos she was born and created, how chaos harkens to her call— she beckons, beauty far greater than Aphrodite, a goddess unto herself with the lure of sirens but without malicious intent— like Calypso: just in love with freedom; and I, but a humble sailor, have sailed directly into her cesspool—an insignificant photon drawn deep into the singularity of her being, unable to leave her attraction, unable to escape her gravity—I am hooked—the more I learn, the more I talk to her, the more I want to know more and be near her— and when I finally wash up on shore purging my lungs, she still appears from the water, beckoning and calling me—I realize I breathe not the ocean, but I breathe in her.