[Mister Saint]: 79.Mature.A Handcuff Romance

[Mature]
Not for readers under 16

A Handcuff Romance

The storm clattered overhead.
A thousand flatware bits
in a thousand china cabinets
couldn't reproduce that sound.
Rain immersed his hair and coat
in slippery drops of cold.

His knuckles, white with pressure,
finally relax upon the wheel.
Headlights off.
Parking gear.
Home.

Into cascading night he dashes
fast as tired feet will dash.
He's earned a million cash today
at work behind his gun.
Now all that's left to do
is tell his partner how it went.
The badge inside his wallet
burns a little, so he thinks,
and maybe it will burn forever.
Maybe riches dull the pain.

Upon the step he pauses,
slicks his hair upon his head.
The man he loves is just beyond
and at least, he must look nice.
As often as their lips have meshed
and bodies slid together
he could never let his partner down.

His knuckles, still a little white,
rap a story on the door.

His smile, bright and winning,
melts into the driving rain.
His partner isn't smiling.
There is no 'welcome home, my love,'
no hug, no kiss, no felt embrace.

Just a flash of badge and cuffs.
"Sorry, partner,"
sighs the man at home,
the man with whom the robber
had this morning shared a bed.

He thanked the stars the pouring rain
drowned out the sound of sirens
flooding everything with whirling blue.
He thanked them for the water
blurring tears on both their faces.