Every night he plays
Lost in a melodic never landFar beyond the controlled confusion of this placeWhere they hear but don’t listenA man and his woodwind meld so sweetLike French vanilla melting under a warm butterscotch heatThe brass wears a high shine glistenTogether They birth a velvety sound with a satin slicknessInside this fractured shack Seedy to the eye at a glanceThe easy breeze of happen stanceFinds me in the company of brillianceOnce, maybe twice in a man’s life will he ever get this chanceAnd I’m the only one who seesOn the dusty planks of a crippled platformHe blows with passionFlaunting the elasticity in his swollen cheeksDelicately caressing those nickel plated curvesThe reed of his horn climaxes in pleasurable shrieksA chemistry uncannyAnd amongst a consistent unflattering chatterA man and his horn in a world all their ownHe drops to his knees His horn a steady moanAs if nothing else mattersThey would continue to speak Whispering in smooth harmonic tones for some timeAnd in the end He gently wipes her mouth taking good careI am blessed to have seen such a thing so rareHe treats her so kindAs they quietly disembark to little appreciationJust a man, his horn And their nightly situationI offer a slight nod as he strolls passedHe smiles seemingly flatteredUnassumingThey exit hand in handThe same way they enteredAs if nothing else matteredCopyright © 2014 by Daryl R. Gaines. All rights reserved