A Sailor's Hands And Me Poem by Sarah Everson

He likes to be behind me,
Holding loosely to my upper breast,
I always sleep with right side down,
His other hand requires extra warmth
Well, so he said, and it is in my vee,
At times I feel his pulse, or is it mine?
He likes me nude just to be close,
Avoid those artificial 'rags' he says,
And so we stay all night, so tight
Until the hour before dawn, it's when
The night is at its darkest and I come;
Back from a god-created sleep,
And spent, a shudder titillates
A sailor's calloused hands and me.