Your hands reach out to me, Across oceans and open blue skies, I sail along the current of your love-lines. As you drum morse code along my spine, I swim in the warmth of your open palm, The grooves between your knuckles, Deep enough for me to drown, Wide enough for me to rest. Your fingertips are salt and brine. I close my eyes and sink. I am safe inside your grasp, Encircled by your folded fist, Unravelling and unfolding myself, A newspaper boat floating on your waves. I set myself on a course to your eyes, Tangling myself up in your hair. You are a whisper and the moon, That steers me along impatient waters. Soon, my love. Soon.