Wired-up and undercover in the cess-pools of the Candymen,
she gathers her intelligence of crystal meth and heroin.
The "Dumb Blonde" seeking out a fix;
at least, that's what the dealers see;
But she's The Specialist;
each day... a wager with Eternity.

FBI, or DEA? I just don't know; she's never said.
I wait for weeks not knowing if she's still alive... or if she's dead.
But then, she is The Specialist;
I've learned to read between the lines,
a certain Email phrase to tell me "Don't Ask"...
yes, I know the signs.

Then, if I text or Email, I know that she never will reply
when she's out there on a bust; but still, I hope...
and still, I try.
And her investigations can take weeks;
but she'll be there, one day
in my cellphone message texts;
or on my In-box page display.

And I don't even know her true name or address
and that's the way
it has to be;
her alias is all we use... this game we play
protects her from the cyber-intercept;
a trick the dealers use
with scanners and with packet sniffers
seeking out the careless clues

to her identity;
but, to them... she's a ghost in cyberspace;
There's nothing of her there out on the Web...
impossible to trace.
For five years now, we've played this game;
I've chewed my nails with worried sighs;
and yet, she comes back every time...
I guess it's true; Love never Dies.

For J.
Be Safe.