by Stephanie Powell

there is a split above the stone harbour mouth

From the window of our hotel room, I could use a finger
To unpick it
To break it open
To jiggle about the wound

Or leave it

Enjoy the honeymoon with no other familiar
No cat or wild animal
Just your body, its slow boat
rolling to ancient, bitter pier

I could

de-scab my shin on the bed
watch you shower
intimate in existence amongst your clothes
not just sex, but also
your everyday nakedness
the weak points
you expose while dressing, where I
could lay a cold weapon
or the warmth of a tongue

This morning is

Hotel air-conditioning
Fingerprints on bathroom tiles
You, solid behind glass
and surrounded by
drumming, new water
falling as though
it would never dry out

Here is
this wild peninsula
We have arrived
in Oban
I will let the ocean do what it wants