Gardens

We made love in the moonlight, everything grew,
the stream gurgled as we continued anew,
stars touched soft skin, then cicadas would begin,
to remind us of the contract that we'd entered in.

This was Africa, a warrior may suddenly wander by,
magic in the air, you didn't even have to try,
the heady scent of eucalyptus and frangipani,
added to dappled purple shadows and mystery.

The soft rhythmic drumming of Isandlwana
permeated from afar - 'your destiny is ready bwana,'
sure it was, at that time but future dragged into memory,
and suddenly the pair of us faded into history,

Another garden, another moonlight, like tonight,
when persona found itself in Italian Roma.