Let's make them blush with jealousy as we hold our moonlight.
Tight in your arms I'll seem childish from afar, but tempered
will--steel by your never brittle devotion--will give my heart's
commotion a seasoned observation I'll express most vulnerable.

Let's make them snicker dry as their comments snide hide
a longing to love so honest that we can dance without music
space or reason, simply to have an excuse to sway in arms
that never falter and eyes that remain on the source of all heat.

Let's make them avert pure and holy eyes, which must peel
themselves away for sins we surely brave in the zeal for an
early grave, knowing full well their monocles fell from nights
unquenching a thirst we had since filled up flowing to burst.

Let's make them leave, quite simply. To go and leave us this
room. For the halls of society are empty and so we might as
well use it, for a few muses to craft their art glorious on minds
entwined in laborious pursuit of shaping the other in motion.