Love Fish

We are two sardines
squashed together in a single camper bed.
In a double bed we fight
for space, so God knows how we slept
in our little springy tin, with you

getting up every five minutes to be sick
and return groaning, cradling your sore belly.
Your aunt’s fish fondue meal too rich
for your sensitive waters. I am all bubbles,
burps and winds; I fill the bed with farts.

We are two love fish gulping for air.
In the morning, we flop out of bed,
laughing, sharing the silly shame; it proves
we are in love, caught together
in sickness and in health.

I ask you to marry me. You agree.
Ahead of us the sea.