You always do this, she says,
as he smiles victoriously
with the teaspoon between his teeth,
knowing well that it tastes sweeter
stolen from her cup.
He watches her undress
from behind his fingers. She knows it
but she knows he cannot reach.
He knows he could
but the forbidden polaroids are sweeter.
We never do this, she says,
eyes closed as he strokes her hair and face.
They know it is a stolen glimpse
through the keyhole
into the secret garden.