Cool On Her Heels
See that lady?
She walks with the
rhythm of Jazz.
She plays me real cool.
Her voice is as deafening
as the trumpet that travels
off the page to discover
untold stories of tunes
that give me a
new style.
She snaps her fingers
in meters,
her voice is a riff.
Her lips reveal the
melodious notes of
a saxophone.
Her eyes are rhythmic,
hypnotic,
like bold black notes imprinted
on white paper.
Her body masquerades
as the voices of:
Dizzy,
Chet,
Miles,
Charlie,
Duke,
Monk,
and
Gerry.
She makes love in their notes.
She is their language.
She’s cool on her heels.
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