SPRING TIDE 

Undressed and adrift in the swimming pool

we had broken into with a secret

key you’d seen slipped under a false rock,

 

we pretended this was something we did

all the time. I had never been naked

in front of you and I was aware of

 

my arm hair, long and pale, floating across

the clear surface of the water, tugged like

seaweed by slight waves our bodies made.

 

Not sure where to look I tried the moon, but

the pull toward your central axis was strong.

Spring tides occur season after season.

 

            In one dark corner you kissed your girlfriend.

            A constellation I’d orbited many nights.