Stealing glances from undulating water

beyond everyone’s sight.

When no-one else is watching.

Those proud parental eyes fix on your charge

as you snatch by the pool a blur-image of Him.


Another age saw a love you held unrequited

for a thousand, and one night.

Another Older Man, wedded to a woman’s face,

makes you dream of roses is snare-wire, and yearn

for the unobtainable, for your unholy grail of desire.


Did you suffered that pain as a daughter

in a classroom den gloss-bright,

in a silent scream schoolgirl fantasy, scratching

secret nihilist notes while bleeding tears in large

pools, always hoping no-one would see your sin?


O, to feel on your neck His breath heated;

to have Him hold you tight;

to kiss your cherry-red lips in moist embrace.

Seize something to ease the pain, temper the burn,

of your intemperate heart and its unforgiving fire.


Steal now His body and His soul: give no quarter.

When, later, under your bedside light

no-one can see you quietly, desperately snatching

His heart from that other, and you answer the charge,

if given any chance, could you show yourself to Him?


Malek Montag

Rochester, 2017


Picture Credit:


About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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