I sit on a chair
Like jazz.
Chromatic thoughts colour my
Sullen syncopations,
Drifting into a lazy day's coda
From one mode of sorrow to another.
Old blues lick new wounds
Panning my self indulgence
Across one cheek,
And now another.
But I,
I
Can’t
Quit
You
Babe.
2 comments:
old blues lick new wounds...nice.
if i recall correctly... u dont like jazz.
but that was plain and simple pretty.
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