love is a forbidden act of rebellion and a powerful, yet ultimately fragile, expression of individuality against the totalitarian regime of Big Brother

We are in a public garden
in England, in May.
we sit together
in mild, balmy weather.

We do not track those
who move around us.
they have their instructions,
undoubtedly.

We look at the water,
then we look at the ducks,
the weeping willow tree is there:
reflected in her eyes,
a subtle, facial recognition, disguise,

I drop words into her ears,
like pearls,
there are many sophisticated listening devices
planted here and there.

I use a white handkerchief to blow my nose,
slowly, deliberately.
Maybe, we can stay here, together, forever,
 or maybe not 
we cannot escape the hate
of love in a police state.

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