Blackbeak Bluff anchors away boys

-- at blackbeak bluff: sunset --

The briny wisps of saltwater tantalized his senses – a moth, to flame, his liberty pilfered by the enticingly warm embrace of oceanic familiarity.  On the wind he heard her siren tongue (come, come to me!), the waves filtering through the craggy teeth that jutted upward from the ambiguous blackness, hissing against the friction – crashing alike a tempest against a stalwartly immovable face of chipped stone and dogged brows.  The lackadaisical progressions of a steadied, casual gait are swallowed by the bellicosity of the watery goddess and her turbulent nature; even as he grows impatient and quickens his pace to reach the precipice on which he can admire the vastness of fluid pitch (light swallowed as the sun waned) he is no match for her warring cadence.  She is not to be trifled – a sultry seductress that purified in the same breath as she ruthlessly asphyxiated.
 
Vermillion toes kissed the edge, precariously perched above a sooty maw and snaggle-fangs, growling gullet gushing upward to feather sanguine furs in refreshing pearls of acrid dewdrops.  The metallic varnish of his gaze glistened over with admiration: he had missed this beatific scenery, the inviting shoals and watery lips which pressed tenderly against his heels on the shoreline.  He was unacquainted with this land – up here, on high, it afforded him a bit of much-needed clarity, and his eyes swept hungrily over the exquisitely sewn patchworks of land below, threaded so tenderly they seemed seamless as they converged alike silken fabrics.  He quickly discerned the speediest route to the nearest beach – a shoreline with which he can once again romance the tempered rivulets of his fickle, liquescent lover.  Though he did not immediately retreat to his task, for now enamored into quiet stillness by the magical quality of the venue.

The never-ending horizon as the light faded beneath the curtain of the sea –

– and he, shipwrecked.