Jazz
She calls him JAZZ,
He is the music
Her heart hears.
Like the slow rippling
Of a trombone,
Deep and mellow.
Sometimes gentle like
Duke's piano when he plays
"Mood Indigo", lingering forever.
Jazz is what she hears
When he whispers her name,
Sweet and low...
Like a lonesome saxophone's
High notes, wrapping around her,
Like his strong arms.
Noone, ever made, a sound
As mellow as the soft echo of
His breath In her ears and heart.
JAZZ she calls him,
Because JAZZ he is!
C. Alvez
Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2012
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