They lie naked and unafraid, swaddled in limbs that overlap on the bedsheets and warming in the crevices of each other’s flesh. Early sunlight sizzles on oily skin and beads of sweat. An odd humming in their bodies, like the ringing that lingers after a crescendo of brass. They needn’t move, nor speak. There is nothing to be said of this moment. Nothing to be recorded. To do so would be to dilute the moment itself, which comes once, and once alone. Let’s leave them and let them have it to themselves.
Paddy Dobson
16th November 2021