Intimacy I

I wake up to the sound of the ocean pulling away. Slowly
It sucks away from my ears and leaves damp swash marks.

Then I realise your eyelashes were dissolving when sunlight shone
Through you. Your neck marked pink with creases of the bed sheet

Still asleep. I try to say something about the fear of losing
This, like watching a container ship tip, spilling

The letters to home, scattering ashes. But words
Cannot pierce your haze, and they turn into a wet package

Falling apart bobbing with the waves.