Malt ’n Jazz


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.


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