I think they know what you’re doing

 

On those darkened streets,

Biting cold, it nibbles

The birds disturbed

By late night wandering hands.

A grin;

An enticing smile to lure them in,

Snatch a few off the dirty cobbles

With your fingertips, your bare flesh,

Turning their smiles to snarls.

Red in the lamplight,

the colour of wine, smeared on her

Dress, and your shirt.

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