It’s not as though they were being watched, intel gathered, phone lines tapped,

colleagues replaced by covert ops, but either way being together was a risk.

There had been words spoken,

direct authority exercised,

a stern wagging of a finger,

the explicit rules had been carved on stone and yet there was a disregard of tone.

They had met accidentally, both enamoured with it enthralled by its sheer mass,

all branches had stretched out like arms longing for the holding of a promise.

She had sat in its shadow a particularly hot afternoon a co-conspirator,

closed eyes and been lulled gently hushed into a slumber

from the wind tussled leaves whispering sweet sweet nothings unheard before.

He had come with intent,

ill will and sass,

the product of an overbearing parent,

found his way to where he should not and saw her resting there.

On awakening her eyes adjusted like deer being hunted,

breath staggered,

an unusual quickening of her pulse,

as she found a gaze equal to her own and felt the faint in the fallen.


Each day they met there – he telling stories of giant leaps and feuding family –

she listened and watched,

transfixed by the transmogrification of feeling from the ground up taking root.

The nights felt like failure the days together like freedom,

she would turn over and see her self and feel nothing,

a vacuum, a restricted by,

longing for the sun to bloom and blossom.

They had been discreet

always separating at different times,

sometimes she would lean and he would climb above her,

catching scents amongst fruits that would dizzy and dismay him.

They had kept a hidden vow but time had its own agenda,

and in August’s hot sun

had bent branch and bough to envelope the two of them,

presenting him with a gift, a way for them to really be, for fate to make the choice.

So her gave it to her.


Gave her a taste of something,

something that no one should be denied of, and from first bite he knew:

Somewhere amongst the bushes they had been watched all this time.

a manchild stomp of feet

and delusions of mine-mine-mine,

the preventative made primal with all the rage of the excluded,

pulsing where blood surged like someone had their sticky fingers

all over his favourite toy.


She knew it was over,

Knew more than she had before

and suddenly felt fermented truth

at the back

of her throat.

She looked,

saddened eye,

she left to do what she had been told,

and there

under that same tree

shared a vow

with someone she never wood.


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