Blame the Night

He kisses me as he returns. While I,
still half-asleep, moan and curl into

the smooth surface of his side
thinking of the beach I knew as a child,

the soft sand through my hands and my toes,
curving in to meet his body here.

I never hear him enter.I think he eases
the bedroom door, I think, as though unsure

pull off his shoes and socks, and crawls
beneath the sheets, his arm heat against my back,

our heart rates slow to rest. Perhaps
all good-nights should whisper like a summer breeze

and then the falling into a deep sleep, together
with the full bodied smell of love.