flame red hair pulled back over giant silver hoops, sexy alto, everything's cool in jazz.
Martinis and brass, ivory floating in
ebony wood, he snugs that bass in the crook of his arm
metal brushes caressing cymbals
the lady's in love with you.
a red velvet curtain, she wraps her mouth around those
diminished jazz chords
coaxing them into variations and riffs,
sounds that flare and settle around that flicking index finger, that bass.
he's average, a mop of hair, serious eyes, small build
until he gets behind that piano
knee boppin', fingers flying
as she scats and skibble de zoo wayays her
muted gold and purple stage lights
she steps back from that mic
If you are the copyright holder of this poem and it was submitted by one of our users without your consent, please contact us at http://support.scrapbook.com and we will be happy to remove it.