He crossed the ocean, the lands in between.
So warm, the window’s open,
all wrapped together in a twin bed.
It’s just after midnight in Berlin.
Their breath recedes into placid waves,
color of the pre-dawn Baltic.
He stirs and cradles her into his hull,
warm wood, live wood,
cotton boxers round the hips.
Able finally to say good-night
and fall sleep, both.