The coast curves around the sea,
each jutting headland a ridge of its spine,
shingle beaches like shards of bone
chipped away by the force of the tide,
pressing angry against my naked soles.
The waves leap at the shore,
silver wolves with dark open jaws
and glinting eyes like blinking amber suns
stolen from the sky, just for a second,
before they crash around our feet.
The taste of salt in the air
stings my lips, pressed against
the smooth skin of your shoulder.
You shiver. The wind drags
across your flesh raising dimples
like pebbles beneath my palms.
Sometimes I wake in the night
and the cotton sheets feel cold between us
and just for a second I stop breathing-
I close my eyes tight against the darkness
pressing in around me, heavy as storm clouds
hesitating on the edge of relief.
Expectant silence hangs oppressive in the air.
Your breathing is loud near my ear, dragging
oxygen into your lungs like the waves
steal shingle from the shoreline.
I remember that autumn afternoon, anchored
together in the eye of the storm.
Beneath my drifting eyelids
you laugh, turn, grab my hand,
and we run along the spine of the earth.