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...