We head for the river around midnight.
Park’s closed by then, but rangers sleep too.
We walk with the rushing step of youth
and it’s just me, and it’s just you,
and we speak with extinct exclamations,
laughing at the sour things crouched in the past,
And our meanings would be worthless in a moment,
waiting for the sun to rise at last.
There are things that men will only say in private,
and only after shared heaps of grime,
there are seconds that slip into the cracks of a soul
and emerge at the necessary time.