Lemon Drop Licks
Suspended like a lemon drop
on the tongue of night
the moon melts
on the clarinets keys
Haze, ever present,
on this humid September eve,
blurs the edges of reality
calling forth images
of sweet beginning
the howls of wolf..
as the sax soars
and the warmth of blood.
A firecracker night
sparks
spinning in lamplight
basking in blue velvet
humming with the whir
of cicada's
with the brushes
on top hats.
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