She came in like smoke under a locked door—uninvited,but too late to stop.
Lips like perjury.Legs that crossed themselves like secrets.A voice dressed in silk and suspicion.
I asked her name.She gave me a crime.One I'd commit twice—first with my hands,then with my silence.
She said,"Take off your badge.Truth's got no place here tonight."
We danced through half-truthsand cigarette burns,her fingernails spelling out confessionsagainst my throat.
The sheets were a courtroom.The verdict:guilty,gasping,again.
She vanished before morning,left only a red lipstick markon the warrant I never served.
And I—I still taste the alibi.