Lights down low
we move as one
together we lie.
Under the gaze of passing cars
fleeting headlamps explore the curve of your back,
silence is golden in this clandestine hour
inevitably we can’t hold
these moments forever.
We’ll move to the edge sometimes
but when we do we rarely clamour back.
No one ducks for cover with earthly pleasures
so perhaps you and I revel in four of the seven deadlys,
remaining completely natural,
starting as we mean to go on
until we’re satisfied at the blissful end,
sleep welcoming us in.