Your body brought the sea to my bed,
cloaking me as the rushed arch of a wave,
a tide suspended,
unable to break.
Grabbing onto you is like running
my fingers through the wet of a storm.
Despite the salt and surf,
you are not cold —
quivering with mammalian heat against my chest,
holding with arms of fever
and hurricane infection.
I swim for hours.
I never drown.
© 2018 Stellular Scribe
