Scent Packing
No fingerprints left on the smoking gun,
A fragrance, burning powder neatly hides.
Her summer dress and sandals on the run,
Italian chic and unchaste pique collides.
Her stylish tears well up behind the shades,
Tantrum-trained, generated on demand.
'Acqua Di Parma' trails where she parades
A lust for living, most won't understand.
At ease on city streets with no disguise,
Unruffled by the gravity of crime,
The echoes of Lambretta lullabies
Compel her to relive her act in mime.
Revolver aimed, she felt the tension rise,
Trigger squeezed tight, she watched him atomise.
Martin Hodges
Posted over on his site Square Sunshine 
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