Serial Poem: Poem Noir (part v)

Part V

T.C. Brown returns from his office.
He is sore from the grilling of police.
He isn’t burnt, just slapped around a little.
Angles promoted him from suspect
to principle suspect.
This suited T.C. just fine.
He liked to get ahead in life.

Client at the office.
Dark light of sunset
highlights her eyes,
and her painted smile.
T.C. lights the lamp on his desk
lowers the blind and the room
is all shadows.

“Mary was my sister.
Marilyn was his lover.”
T.C. shrugs.
“I don’t know,
I only saw shadows.”
Client sighs, “I know.”

Client says her suspicions are confirmed.
T.C. says suspicions are all he has.
Questions and suspicions.
Client is not in the mood for questions.
Client’s perfume hangs around his nose,
teasing questions,
creating suspicions,
inventing motives.

Client falls into his arms.
It fades into a kiss.
That fades into her dress falling on the floor
that fades into them falling entwined on the couch
that fades into his fall into her flesh
that fades into the fall of ecstasy
that fades into morning;
a five o’clock shadow on his face
and her head curled onto his chest.

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