The Perfect Crime

You created the bold scene;
criminal intent brimmed the surface,
beneath, all designs were obfuscated,
but silence is golden in a murderous
wake, so you removed mortality's
last, tangible gasps.
The body you placed in a
stately pose; hair neatly coiffed,
clothes neat and prim, scrubbed
the skin, sponged up the blood,
with bleach, odors, stains expunged,
with surgical precision carefully
extracted the bullet, Still, contamination
would square your rendezvous, so you
covered each tell tale part. A ski mask
matted every wayward strand of hair;
dark sunglasses deflected the stare
of every potential witness. A sleek,
tight body suit coated skin color
and blemishes, and rubber gloves veiled
identifying prints, while galoshes erased your
footsteps. Yet, death's, dark shadow still
followed; ebbing light intangible signs
shared. Your perfect crime sculpted,
others to deceive, still bore the signature
of its dated artist. Your alter ego was
duly unmasked, and meticulous designs,
still evident from the rotting corpse, reared.
Guise meant to disguise now a thinning
facade, and crafty tools long destroyed
bared their timeless marks. Your habitual
patterns lept from the grave floor. From
your callous perch, clean phobias and
orderly complexes glared, but in your
deep, dark heart the dastardly deed, so
stark, yet debonaire remained hidden.