The polished moon set into the fog rising dull from the western sea at the end of a close night. Your lips next to thick strands of damply clinging hair descending your cheek were salt from tidal pools and sweat, swollen from service to your passion. We stood to brush at soft sand that clung to our bodies like love, walked to meet the coming tide. There you took the same care selecting driftwood to juggle for my amusement as you used to elect your lovers while the waves built and broke behind you in the thrall of a sudden gust just as I had inside you at your bidding.