Jazz

[Alexearth]

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.

Poems with such imagery has always fascinated me. And I don't think understanding the poem is really important, it is more the atmosphere shared here that matters. Somber but yet beautiful