I will forever hear the sounds
bouncing gently or hard upon these walls
coloured by memories of our prime
when crawlers turn to butterflies
or rather moths, since jazz
is always best enjoyed at night.
I will forever see the hands
touching grabbing hitting gliding
on shiny instruments, on my heart
on fine silk and friendly shoulders
on slender waists held lightly with love
and bodies high on swing
touching grabbing hitting gliding.
But most of all it’s faces I remember;
not names, just faces.
Shining eyes, brilliant smiles,
soft sweat and cheeks flushed red
and lips of crimson velvet.