Only in stains of lipstick the echo of her bourbon voice remained.
Smoking slowly his trenchcoat pocket bulges of unused Beretta.
Despite the wet sound of rubber soles he has not yet touched his pocket.
From across the bay rolls the oily song of tugboats pushing water.
Shadows from burly men reflect the heavy sound of concrete mixing.
With haiku-noir inspired by Jen’s prompt on Carpe Diem made me do them in American Sentences.
December 2, 2014