Criminal Instincts

You called me innocent.

We made love in the moonlight. Our fingers intertwined, legs strewn awkwardly across the backseat of the compact car. Music played on your phone but we couldn't hear it over our deafening heartbeats and the moaning of names.

You squeezed my hand, hard.
Then everything went white.

I remember watching your silhouette scramble to gather each item of clothing that had been carelessly tossed aside. The cloud of tranquility that always shadows you came out to play; you told me to take a deep breath. You exhaled all nerves from your body and rolled down the window, "Good afternoon, officers." Charming as ever.

Outside of the toasty car, standing in the street, headlights illuminated your body and I soaked up each and every one of your characteristics.
Stubbly chin, wrinkled in a laugh.
Messy hair, making you look five years younger.
Hands behind your back, in cuffs.

They called me innocent.