The river wrestles on, furrowed by light bulbs.
The iron song of the evening bathes the air in
London's homeward beating hearts.
A world of leather and troubles, not of one's own.
The summer moon is a dim lamp
as we walk from Kew Bridge to yours.

Quietness clings to you so unnatural.
It's rattled your breath, like a spectre's hands
have tipped black medicine down your throat or
A devil's tongue, wet with mockery,
has kissed away daylights fervent laughter
and left your mind to move on silence.

Under this train crash crescendo – the world is too much
so I make balm from my words,
that I shake out like polaroids of times
we felt worth remembering.
Yet, a monkey rattling a cage, my lullaby falls deaf
and your lungs sit still, heavy.

We walk on like stuffed dolls, for all our beauty
just passengers in the night's school bag and
I'm left to think of the Thames as the great, grey, mother of us.
How it forged what we have, set in motion our hearts
to be tugged shallow, wrenched deep with the tide.
We were born in it's ritual, bound, heaving in sync.

And the caustic moonlight gives us nothing to rein,
In the silence you shine like beaten copper and my grain is the
hammer. Each lilt of your body begs me to love and to know  
What spills from your mind
when you cant scream and cant cry.
What do you have without words?

I want you to have me -
because you are the words.
That I write everyday.
And the reason that makes me
want to remember
that I'm feeling this way.