in bed at night,
the tenderness of your hands
harbors me-
I am still
I can’t see your face
but I know by touch how to
navigate your body
waves and swells, mole
in the half-moon lobe of your ear,
gentle caress
where sky and
water converge
the concave dip next to your heart,
with the soft, fine, hairs I stroke
when I lay my head on your shoulder
you cup my *******
with a gentleness you keep
secreted away until there
is only moonlight
in that moonlight
I ache to melt
into nothing, but your hands
anchor me to the bed
so that I cannot drift
with the ebb and flow
of the winds pulling frantically
at the sails
I sail through the night,
following the stars in your eyes
sails pulled taut,
while your hands tug me,
this way and that.