you and me and all of us
so lay here and blend your skin with mine, darling
and we'll pretend that no ones starving
or fighting or dying
no armies that need boys like me
and the leaves and vines have grown thick
over those old statues
monuments of brave men
and romantic poets
will there be statues if us
buried under the overgrowth
for passersby to contemplate and wonder
about who we were
and who they are,
sitting on the grass or that rickety old bench
and just think,
nothing more.
and i didn't travel
or explore or search the world
wage a war or write a masterpiece
because no city or country
or deep blue ocean,
no novel or adventure
could bring me the beauty
that was you.
