some nights there are no words,
just an undressing,
a gradual nakedness

the Blackwood ripples, swarms
and we breathe it in,
us born-agains lying sweet and fragile
by its side,
lingering,
hypnotized by the river's lick
of wounded land.
marooned beneath sooty sky
shrubs play chinese whispers
but settle longer now,
luxuriating, shivering a little
as frost too seeks a skin
on which to shrink,
us two freckled blue,
smeared,
but patient, pushing thought
through unbuttoned sleeves

some nights there are no words