Tumba and I are oddly seen,
What some may term taboo.
We keep our artifice hidden well,
The ones that know are few.

Tumba, I so fear this loss,
But loss it shall not be.
The times will change and ages range,
We’re not far off from glee.

I’ll cry for you, if you for me,
And sing one day we might.
Keep contact in our changing names,
To weep in our messenger’s fright.

Tumba and I may never touch,
Yet each night we make love.
Our souls collide while our thoughts abide,
From humanity’s frantic shove.


 
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