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.
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