Nautilus – Sarah McPherson


Curled into the semblance
of a shell, we lie. I will watch you sleep,
listen to your small sounds, trace
with one finger the line of your arm
beneath the sheets.

Curled into a tangle of limbs
and hot breath, we lie. Kelp
on a beach, safe above the line
of polished glass, tin cans and foam,
left by the sea.

Curled in the quilted darkness
of our cave, we lie. These are the times
that wrap those small dissatisfactions
in a shining skin, smooth pearls, to ease
the tensions of the day.

Curled into a single twist
of sun-bleached wood, we lie. Washed together
by the tides, we rest as one. I will
lean my head into the curve of your neck
and join your dreams.


Sarah McPherson is a writer of short fiction and poetry from Sheffield in the UK. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Corvid Queen, The Castle (Royal Rose Magazine), Still Point Arts Quarterly, and Burning House Press.
Twitter: @summer_moth