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.