miss nil noire

She stood across the room 
in one smooth motion. She never
showed up, she'd just always be there
when you noticed her. Not
before. No one ever saw
her turn to go. She'd just 
moonwalk slowly out of there, 
while everyone crouched as one 
in audacious jazz pose, snapping 
our fingers and leering while 
she took her clothes off 
someplace else. That was
like her. Wherever she went,
went away, went off, she'd always
take her clothes. Modest girl, you grin,
but you'd be you don't know how right.

She was modest as a girl like that
gets, or bets, or goes on shoes, or
knows the blues, or shows. It's why
we were all in love with her face,
or eyes, or nose. Whichever turned
your way. Her mouth held us 
spellbound, hypnotized - peering
into it for any trace of a smile, but 
no! She was yawning, and we felt 
personally implicated in her boredom
but we knew she didn't see it that way. 
She was the most fair woman on earth, 
and any competitors for the title would 
be ruthlessly crushed by her horde of 
stooges and goons, male, female and 
otherwise devoted. Basically, there was

Something she had, that had us all. 

I think it was personal
in different ways for each of us,
except her. To her it was all the same.
She saw us as we were, hers, and she
never knew why. Never took us that 
way. Just gave herself as she was, 
hers. Which hey.
We took it for what it was worth. 
Worlds. When she died, a part 
of us within us all, that some 
call the soul -  oh wait she's back.
Never mind 

That was someone else who died
It always is, with her. This one's 
for keeps, no playing. Maybe that's why 

I'm always out in the rain, in the dark
taking drinks in smoke filled rooms 
turning down cases left and right 
in case she walks in, and my 
business booms. I'm not even 

a detective, so 
whatever she wants, that's 
what I'll have to do I guess.

I'm sure she knows what she wants. 
I also know her too well
to place any bets.