The Cold Dry Shores of the Morning

Hit
By the big saline wave
Of night

Caught
In the electric fizz
Of its foam

Then washed
Deep into sleep
Drawn under the sheets
Spun by the currents and turned on the tide

Till some storm
Tosses us back
Here on the cold dry shores of the morning
Naked and raw

Time to wake up!
Get into the shower
Wash the sand from my eyes
The salt from your back

The sound of the waves is receding

But there
On our mattress of sand
Our imprint is left
The curvature of your body
The restlessness of mine
Like a plaster cast
Of desire
Which these little words
Can’t fill

Peter Jukes 2000

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