We were washed in the dim glow of moonlight,
Our heartbeats calm and tranquil,
Serenity beat around us,
And soft melodical jazz that thrilled.

It was a beautiful night,
One that transcended the bounds of reality,
We felt as two stars transported,
Into a sweet magical galaxy.

I felt your soft satin skin touch upon my hand,
And a innocent desire took hold of me.
I put your hand upon my shoulders and grabbed your waist.

We twisted and spun to the sound of jazz,
Our bodies synced in rhythm and grace,
As if two stars that burned for long,
Had collided in a charming embrace.

Your moonlit body glided across the floor like a graceful swan,
Practised and perfected in its movement and poise,
As I looked upon my fate with head upheld and flashed a grateful smile to it twice.

And we whirled and twirled,
Every second abuzz with magic and delight,
Our bodies weary and sweat drenched,
Yet, our soul's thirst unquenched.

As we slowed down,
I had an ardent desire to never halt,
And In that moment fate immortalised us,
And we became the two dancing stars who never stopped.

the walls and floor were blue
in the long standing home of jazz.
i sat in that room on a wednesday afternoon
and felt that color
travelling in my veins.
i imagined the room was filled not with
sunlight and the chatter of teenagers but with
moonlight and music in that melodic silence.
i tried to absorb the aura of
that room to have for myself and breathed deeply
so i would remember the taste of blue. i imagined
myself boldly uncovering the piano on that stage and
imagined the names and legends embedded in its keys.
i heard the music of times gone now,
resounding against the walls and coloring the
wild yellow audience to subtle periwinkle and
deep sapphire and even wilder blue and
suddenly i realized why the sky is that hue;
God Himself must have taken a seat there, in that
modest blue room on
18th and vine
and it made perfect sense.
this beautiful revelation i found on
a sunny wednesday afternoon
is dyed in blue.

We meek children took the stage like we
borrowed it. I approached the grand piano,
and, asking for its acceptance of my novice hands,
seated myself before it. To my immediate right,
prepared for some unknown challenge,
waited our band, our rhythm and melody. Arms raised,
fingers gently hovering over keys and strings, we
eyed our cue and took it.
Three songs turned us from an uncertain bunch to a
formidable combination. We stole that stage
(as best as any high school combo could do),
and suddenly the stage lights didn’t feel so hot;
those lights shined for us. I left that piano
as a princess leaves a crowd in awe.
We proved superior.

Perspiration coats skin
That stays invisible in the black of the night.
Rain hums an erratic but steady melody,
Leaving rhythm-keeping to the bodies;
Burnt with lust that consumed them
Quicker than rain can douse spirits,
Knowing they downed spirits in a whirl of confusion.
Throats burned, and tongues searched for answers
To questions she didn't recall asking.
Retracing memories' footsteps back...
Back to the bar where his charm set a flame that,
Ironically, made her wetter than the rain-soaked coat
That he took from her, whilst offering his own.
She remembers now.
Walking, talking, thinking away the rain,
Until his soft lips were upon hers and she resisted nothing.
Pushing, pulling, each other into a niche
That will hide their encounter from the wrong kinds of eyes.
A moment after the darkness swallows them whole
Does the predator devour its prey.
It is a prowler, always stalking the scent of pheromones,
Always leaving behind ruins.

Miles Davis soothes the madness of the morning met
Pleasantly abrupt is our perception
Too in a hurry to say thanks
Doors never held open
Don't take offense
For that's the way in the mad city

As rugged as the rust water dripping down the subway train
stained puddles marinated by ***** concrete
We walk the streets of authentic filth
Old buildings and souls
We wake to strive and be much more

Sun rays sneak past the gloomy clouds
Showing success in defeat
No matter if it be yours or mine, says nimbus
As the gray fades, we go back to black and white
Same path  
Two sides
The most precious of gifts are left unwrapped

Doves are still pigeons
And dreamers can be quitters
A forever smile is self denial
Like sweetened iced coffee
Or sweetened anything

The unsweetened mad city

© C. Valencia

Into the dust of Mojave
On a blow-away afternoon
Wandered a traveling stranger
To the highway truck stop saloon.
Taking a seat by the window
His back to the hot blowing wind
You could tell by his face he was grateful
To be out of the sun once again.

And those desert breezes call him
When he is all alone
Ask him where he’s going
He is going home.
Mysterious sandy traces lead him
Along a distant track.
Home is out there waiting
And he is going back.

Then a laugh floated up from the corner
Where the stranger had recently been.
Except for the glass he had emptied
The booth was practically clean.
Out on the road he was walking
His back to the sweltering town.
His car was still parked at the truck stop
But the stranger did not turn around.

And those desert breezes call him
When he is all alone
Ask him where he’s going
He is going home.
Mysterious sandy traces lead him
Along a distant track.
Home is out there waiting
And he is going back.