Jazz

[SuicidalBlueJay]

Mid-afternoon as quiet as can be
inside a bustling city, cars telling you
what you forgot
on a high note. Your cheekbones
are my wishing bone, tied
with great care
yet barely, to the reverse end
of my drunken hands. Such giddy
pleasure having you
at mere arm’s length; this crazy
saxophonist bent
double, smuggling last breaths
over the pulsing border.
Light ceases, in between
the gust of wind
has died
beside the blackness of your eye,
the silence now
grows viscose
with defeat.

Hmmm I don't know what to think of this poem. I'm a newbie so don't take any critique to heart. I just have a hard time understanding poems with such metaphor and imagery.
I like the ending though. "the silence now grows viscose with defeat."
Powerful.