I stand on the deck of the boat, brow furrowed against whipping hair, wind lashing my back.
I watch my heart trampoline hard on the wake, tethered to me with the thinnest rope.
He swings wide, an inked stylus recording a round swell of current, then jerks left and right, scratching thick and black the sharp spikes of my fear. A final jolt, and he slips under the dark water.
Later, we thump hard and fast back to the marina.
His brown skin glows a life vest orange,
his blue eyes closed against fat rain drops.
He scratches his jellyfish stings.