Jazz contemplates with a cigarette
Lit by a jeweled hand
Why Blue’s always sings about
Breaking up happy homes
Shit where is the happiness
In torn apart rooms
With shaded eyes
Now this music
She waves towards the quartet
They wail the same refrain with a
Little loss but no one gets hurt
Not really you see
While she writes Blue’s number
In maroon lipstick
On a linen napkin
That will be tucked in a silk shirt
Voices layered on the mirrored floor
In folding waves to delight