Voyage
Heavy with our mutual sweat, the sheets lie
tumbled like froth at high tide line.
As we ebb into sleep, I watch your eyes
darting behind their lids, and turn to tongue
them; the salt of your skin like the sea
drifts me into buoyant dreams.
We could voyage to the far antipodes
and sleep on salt shores under a foreign sun;
triangulate the stars to find out when
noon rings at Greenwich only for curiosity
and not for need of time. Though we might scan
the horizon for sails, no cold necessity
laps those shores. The tidal moon will wake
and watch our salt-slick bodies as we sleep.
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