a poem where vines hide wires and the leaves are always listening

The canopy swayed, but nothing moved.
The jungle watched. It never proved.
A rustle, soft, a shadow passed.
Your glass was cold, your breath held fast.

Aged rum, smooth as cover names,
Had crossed a thousand border games.
Lime juice whispered through the green,
Like secrets dropped in old canteens.

Then Chartreuse crept in, green and sly,
Like chlorophyll with one red eye.
A dash of bitters sealed the code,
The drink was built. The trap bestowed.

You sipped. The vines began to twitch.
The crickets paused mid-polished pitch.
And from the depths, the silence spoke:
“You are observed. You never woke.”

📜 Jungle Surveillance – The Recipe

Instructions:
Shake all ingredients with ice like you’re blending in.
Strain into a tin mug, tiki glass, or whatever doesn’t leave fingerprints.
Garnish cautiously. The jungle is watching.

Best consumed in dense heat, under buzzing fans, or while pretending you’re not being followed.