From the Fishouse

My hand slithers over shoulder,
slides down flank
slips under arm

to wrap itself around your wrist,
thumb hooked on the crook
of your palm.

Anchored,
I pull in close
the boat of my curves to your body’s shore.

Harboured,
belly to buttocks,
our legs caressing, circle, entwine,

then untangle,
lie side by side;
tidy as coiled rope on a pier.