I trace the constellation of freckles on your back with the tip of my finger
a ripple of cold shooting up your spine shapes never to be seen again.
With your back to me it's the easiest time to ask you
to draw the words to trace them gently
unspoken but said with volume
actions may speak louder than words but words can cut deeper
a shiver saying more than a sob
My knees concertina into yours cold feet brushing against warm ankles
I look up over your shoulder a streetlamp intruding through the slit in the curtains
it's too bright to see the stars so I focus on your freckles
and speak without using my voice
are we still okay?