a pale body
in a smoky glass
smoky night clubs
girls who sold their souls to jazz
they dip their backs and
shimmy their ankles
in an array of beaded stars.
you'll be a slave to the sax
sad mouths twitch
and hail down taxis
don't they know it's too late
to grab a cigarette and go back to that
empty room
we once thought
was home,
but it's just littered with
memories of you.