Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

blue note baby

every morning
as i dress for work
my record player
is spiraling blue train

eve spitting pomegranate seeds

the air surrounding me
fills with your cologne

my hips move
as if you were there
to dance around

tongue remembering
your mouth, bladed grass, and
the endless bourbon

baby, you have found a way
to make jazz forever sound
like california

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