we ride the high side,
legs swinging in the spray from Lake Michigan,
pretending we’re essential crew members,
and I am unafraid
next to your confidence
that the sailboat will safely reach tonight’s dock
before sunset–
when we’ll spread the sleeping bag on the bow,
too tired to stargaze, 
too in love with the adventure to consider
that lying on such a convex surface
might give us the sensation that we are slipping 
away from each other,
but at dawn we’ll rouse clinging to one another, 
dew-soaked and unregretful