In the bed, under cover
Where surveillance cameras live and breathe
Where biologics lose their way, their cause
As locomotives thrust through the tunnels
Of love, of trust, of lust once favored by the lost
In the room once cherished as exclusive
Occupied by so many members of the state
Undermined by sheets as white as snow, as ghostly as they go
Untarnished in the light of privacy called night
Satisfied by pillow talk, so soft, that’s all
Until the film develops a sense of humor
Splashed pictures printed as Headline news on paper
Blasts out the evidence of one person seen with another
Discernible only to those who dare to be amused
And those who dare to look away must be depraved
According to the state
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