New Orleans
Sweet black moss with a licorice hide
all blended with pearls for the whites of his eyes
As music of soul the horn that he blows
in tender seclusion. The jazz club flows
with his heart beat song
and passionate women snap fingers along
to the afroic rhythm down luminous street
He speaks well of strangers with the tap of his feet.
The juice of a plum with a velvet hide
beckons the weary to wander inside
and sleep through the night in cajun style
in the arms of an old man's horn for a while...
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