Sail away with me to Crete.

Come up on deck. Lie back on this roll of we tarpaulin with me and watch the stars. Count them and name them. Feel the swell of the sea under your body as it lifts the boat then sets it down again, time after time, all the way to Crete. Smell with me the dry, savoury scent of rosemary and sage that the night breeze carries from the islands that we sail past, islands invisible in a night that's black as ink except for the last, late lights in village houses along the rocky shore. Taste on your lips the salt that has settled on them through the long, now-dead afternoon. Lick your own lips and I'll lick mine: it's only the evening I want to share with you, not my saliva.