At the bottom of the sea there lie curled
secrets
that wake up at night and step
out, on to the shore, dripping
naked under the moonshine.
Swiping the water off their bodies they
wander the squares and
comb the streets and
bound up the stairs before
sliding though the door ajar,
tip-toeing across the
hallway and past
the kitchen and
into your room, into
your arms,
into
your
dreams.
Tony Xavier 