Swimmers

At night our bodies separate
and come together again, the blue
blankets rolling, lapping
at our shifting limbs like waves.

I depart and return to the shore
of your body, my left leg
meeting your right, our rivery veins
tracing parallel tattoos up our calves.

Divided by sleep we find different
lovers and streets to walk down
before returning to the familiarity
of pancakes and coffee. Just before

you wake, I catch your eyes, darting
like fish in the ocean of REM sleep,
go still as you come to the surface.