The Writers' Circle

He watches from his across the street,
His heart it pounds and skips a beat,
The cab door opens, out she glides,
Over the road he ducks and hides.
She pays the driver, heads for the bar,
He checks his reflection and opens the car,
Dressed in black she's dressed to thrill,
Dressed in black he's dressed to kill.

Drinking alone in the corner she sits,
Fluttering her eyelids, cocktail she sips,
Stood at the bar he knocks back a shot,
Orders two more his stomach in knots.
Wandering over he shoots her a smile,
Setting down the drinks they talk for a while,
Dressed in black she's dressed to thrill,
Dressed in black he's dressed to kill.

A few hours later and a lot of drinks more,
Clothes thrown in a heap on her bedroom floor,
Covered in sweat all his energy spent,
Inhaling his cigarette pleased with how his plan went.
He kisses her cheek and leaves her to sleep,
Her mouth closed forever his secret she'll keep,
Dressed in red she's dressed to thrill,
Dressed in red hes made his kill.