Sleight of hand

In the darkened theatre I feel you smile beside me

as on stage the illusionist produces a folding bouquet

from up a sleeve, and plucks the coin he palmed

from behind a volunteer's ear, and I am glad

your smile is safe from the spotlight

beside me in the dark.

I found a flower in Eden by blind chance,

before the strenuous debut of saints and serpents,

innocently enough, before I knew what I had found

blossoming in the cool night air before the first dawn,

with moonlight glistening in the first pristine dew,

and so, without realising it,

I was already familiar with the secret bouquet I offer you

before we even met. I give you this beautiful flower

that I have stolen from Eden in a forgotten dream

before God could tell that it had gone missing.

It seems I have unwittingly kept it safe beyond His scrutiny,

His oversight felt only as an inexplicable sense of omission,

making the entire world seem like an elaborate misdirection, 

one grand illusion, until you are revealed at last

as I kiss your smiling lips in the dark.