that nobody’s linen, that crisp cotton
hangs low over my brow and in our
little fortress of sheets by the sea
I find your eyes with mine, over the
long length of my fleshy torso you are
holding me steady, unrelenting in your
lock on slippery time, my tender spot
rolls me and you are my rock when
the salt air breezes my cheek, courses
past the tip of my nose, across my firmed
breast and through the groove in your
hair that I have left with my hands.
December 28, 2014