Smoke, warmth and mirrors,
felt and velvet, laughing love,
brothel gently sways.
Dark man fingers chord,
pulse and beat syncopate yet,
unsympathetic.
Sip dry liquid fire,
mix darkness sound and colour,
lost in C sharp blue
A minor flavour,
a taste of lips and tobacco,
D per the silence.
Baby it’s cold out,
Let me pour that drink for you
While the record plays
Fiddling with the mood,
Trumpeting the quiet ragtimes,
ragged heart sorrow
Contrabass patterns,
they underline the gaping
maws of broken oak.
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