The long-legged man I create with my fingers
walks down the grassy lane of your speckled egg arm.
Reaching your rock I win the game and
suffocate your hardness like a gift.
This rock could smash through the bones, veins
and tendons of this open sheet of paper
that moulds your fist like pastry.
There are lines written all over it.
The lines are divine, telling me how long
I will live,
how many children I will have
and how many times my heart will be broken.
I look to your closed book,
denying the divinity, clenched and solid
with no room to enter.
The long-legged man dawdles casually
over to the soft pink button on your breast.
He is swiped away by a swooping bat,
nocturnal and impatient for peace and sleep.
Scampering to safety, my hand hides
stroking gently down your side,
biding my time before sneaking to the cave
between your thighs.
Poseidon’s solid waves heave higher and
crash together, crushing this sailor
who concedes failure and defeat with his white flag.
Your body is dangerous
but safety is always found as I spoon against
the soft tenderness of your back.