On A Bench Under The Moon Poem by Tumisang Ramarea

We sit on a bench under the moon,
Side by side. The elephant in the room
Has been slaughtered and now we skin
It to remove the debris from our thin
Escape. Those scars your heart wears
Don't reduce your beauty or make you less
Appealing to my battered and bruised heart.
Don't you know? Scars turn into Art,
So let's take a chance, let's dance, Step
Out into the cold world. Let me wrap
My arms 'round you because you' the soldier
I want if I need an army with a strong shoulder.

On a bench under the moonlit sky,
I gaze deep into your inner eye.
You are in my arms and time
Does not seem to exist. The tide
Is shifting, our heads begin to tilt:
Turning, drawn by the pressure that's built.
And when the softness of your lips is felt,
Butterflies erupt out from below my belt.
You hold on tightly to me, and I to you;
Both eyes closed, missing this view.
We should get a room, oh the things we'd do!
Is that flow the flow of morning dew?

I know the moon will outlive the bench
And hope our growing love will the stench
Of our decomposing bodies in ages to come.
But what if we fall along this run?
No! Think about what if we catch flight,
Sweep each other off our feet and ignite
Fires in our hearts that will burn red like
Fingertips stroking the nipple, effecting a ripple like,
Fires in our hearts that will burn blue. Cool
Love of a lifelong friendship; earth and moon!