A Poet's Haven

It was just some old Paris Jazz on the U…
One of those quiet back alley hole in the wall…
The place you went to not be seen or heard…
As the wine flowed at a rather slow cool pace…

At first I thought about that old guy…
The one who placed dancing in the rain on the bucket list…
I don’t remember his name but he danced a lot of softshoe…
Like Mr. Bo Jankles dancing in the jail..

Later in life someone wrote it into a song…
I was in awe at how she played her horn…
She would tilt her head back and take a breath…
Never opening her eyes or missing the rhythm…

Each note danced with my soul…
As I slid one shoe and then the other…
To the tempo of her horn…
All while never leaving my chair…

A sudden pause before she played on…
This time a few ivory keys blending in here and their…
As the night grew young…
My legs knew the way home…

As only my heart mattered…
The sound of a chain moving…
Then taking my hand…
A lite peck upon my lips…

Her eyes always smiled, even when tired or red…
A deep breath spoke of stale wine and smoke..
She was my only perfume…
Never another…

I listened to Jazz on the U that drowned out..
The ancient drums, as never a tear fell…