I slip into you like the evening we spent at the beach 

Late in August; 

Sunwarm water only just starting to turn 

Cool, 

The promise of a perfect half hour until the  

Wind would pick up. 

 

You require perfect timing,  

Meeting at the horizon point: 

“I’m only here for tonight.” 

 

But the joy of silk is how it wakes on skin; 

Warm, just wet, and brushed with seasalt.