5-O

sitting in the heat
our bodies melting into the sofa
the carpet beneath our feet feels alien
and scratchy

the birds outside
we can pretend their night-time noises
are really our names
being spoken over the sound of the surf
as it hits the shoreline down below

I dream of the moon
reflected in those waters
the rough feel of your fingers
as they close around my wrist

holding me down a little bit longer