At the Jazz Club

There is music seeping through the room, saturating
It can be seen in every moving thing
Like smoky wisps curling blue through the air
The drip of perspiration down the cocktail glasses
Wiped from the Jazz Man’s glistening brow.
I have seen people who can play music
With each note falling in its right place
To a rhythm flawlessly repeated indefinitely
A hitting of notes in cold, mathematical perfection.
Not tonight, tonight music is being made.
Something wholly unrepeatable is happening
Like a sprawling sunset, the dance of flame
Seen many times but never the same.
The sound is soaking into the living
And bringing the lifeless alive.
The Jazz Man is playing us like the song
Making us into the music, beating our hearts
Moving our feet, compelling our breath
Twisting and turning us in between tables
Projecting visions to our minds in color
Opening our mouths in whispers
Playing our fingers across the table tops
While blowing through her hair as a soft breeze
Falling soft across silken cream shoulders.
Parting thin lips as red as the dress
Stretched taut across my mind to the knee.
A Girl I Used to Know...
The girl I used to know...
Just some girl I used to know.