The Sweetest Things

The sound of Jazz fills the night People perambulate under City-lights Looking for luck where they might The young hunters keep out of sight Those whom never back from a fight Whose knuckles have been worn white Tonight she's the one they stalk She strolls along the sidewalk Finding her way down the blocks Weaving with grace through the flock Passed the line at the Blue Fox You'll see her in thigh-high socks Sitting there, feigning small talk She hides herself in dimlight and clouds of nicotine She's no stranger to the night or the social Bar Scene She can set the mood just right with black hair and eyes that gleam She takes romance to new heights and to some, she is the Queen With hands that wish to grasp Like smoke, that fail to clasp This pain is her invention This void is her intention