Made a pass at the quarry early on.
Background OK, the right school, said sources.
Informal exchanges; my second-rate intellectualism,
her perfect profile and me dangling bits of Marx.
Come up and see my ideologies,
let me remove that flimsy materialism
from your shoulders.
Pull our cover over us.
Became your controller, handled you well.
Taught you tradecraft. Becomes a habit;
like placing carefully over locks
a strand of your chestnut hair,
a thread of cotton from your blouse over hinges,
leaving honest dust untouched on your prised open desk
and using shop window reflections
to watch you watching me watching you.
Tried resisting suspicion
(never resealed your envelopes too perfectly)
but the smudged arrows chalked on walls
ceased piercing hearts and began pointing nowhere
and our dead letterboxes started dying.
I saw your desire for democracy
the dagger under your cloak,
eyes begging me to close your file.