adam and eveline

she’d christened herself after joyce’s fearful anti-heroine

but told him that her parents were irish nationalists

he’d been scalded and scraped by a flying teapot

and was in the mood for a good pipe by the fireside

her shoes of purple velvet rosettes made him laugh

as the pork chop on his grey tweed hat amused her

it was a pub in london and they were young and the

summer stretched before them almost endlessly

they had no need to conceal the truth when together

but her swamp eyes lied in spite of themselves

his freckled lips twitched with the guilt of deception

each felt the other was hiding something, somewhere

but knew not how to unlock the secrets deep

when you become someone else, she told him

you have to lock it up to remain yourself afterward

if you were someone else, he chastised later

that someone is always a part of the inner you

and you can’t remove it by saying time’s up

his dream had unfurled its flag long ago

but she couldn’t forget the unforgiveable

and where their story threatened to end

is where it really began …