Smoke and Sin

The club was dim, a haze of gin and gold, where jazz ran slick like honey through the air. She stood in shadow, wicked, dark, and bold, red dress a warning--men still stopped to stare. Her cigarette burned low, a dying spark, a curl of smoke that whispered through the room. She met my eyes and smiled--slow, and dark-- a prelude to the kiss that spelled my doom. Her voice was silk, laced soft with bourbon heat, each word a lie that tasted rich and sweet. She dragged me close, a moth into the flame, and laughed as I surrendered to the game. The night grew cold, the music played its tune-- I turned… too late. She vanished with the moon.