Jazz

[Thoughtjotter]

Mid-afternoon as quiet as can be
inside a bustling city, cars telling you -----are you saying the sound of cars remind you that you forgot something?
what you forgot
on a high note. Your cheekbones
are my wishing bone, tied
with great care
yet barely, to the reverse end----------your cheekbones are my wishing bones, tied ? (like I said, I'm slow on my interpretations)
of my drunken hands. Such giddy
pleasure having you
at mere arm’s length; this crazy
saxophonist bent
double, smuggling last breaths
over the pulsing border.
Light ceases, in between
the gust of wind
has died
beside the blackness of your eye,
the silence now
grows viscose
with defeat.

I am a bit slow on the understanding of poetry, even after reading it allowed several times. maybe I will someday learn.
R T