Once again the moon
has turned red
as if it is a sign of fertility
and lovers walk the garden beds.
“Oh what a cliche!” She laughs and looks at me.
I watch a couple kiss in the bloody moonlight.
She says; “I have written a poem, would you like to hear?”
I nod and try to feel her body through her dress.
She holds a page up to the moon
but it is too weak to read by-
she tries to remember the words.
Make the river muddy to hide the lack of depth
then people may think you wise.
The moon begins to clear
and lovers move away across the garden beds
looking up with soft sighs
with love and foolish eyes.