Two times she knocked on my door,
A gal who got things done,
knocked things over.
We had done some work together,
a routine case,
I was still finishing the papers.
She lifted a small speck of fire to her lips,
sparks dancing off her
For a moment I was locked in a contest of stares,
sitting through her endless, prolonged breath,
smoke like cream,
curling and twisting around her in every shape.
I’m sorry dear,
I’ll be taking my payment
You’re never ready for that,
the knowing smile of porcelain teeth.
From her purse she produced a small caliber
shot me twice,
I fell asleep.
Still smell her though,