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my loves like jazz
my loves like jazz My Loves Like Jazz - Poem clay perry 'my love's like jazz' Why jazz? Everyone asks, thinks maybe it's a crutch, but you have to listen to understand when it swings mad it's controlled wild, screaming like loons from the secret structure of someone's imagination. You get to go there, fly down to it, sail across it, lose yourself winging your own dips and graceful spins. The cool liquid changes when it cries soft as yellow fog, curling around memory. Ghosts who usually live in the next room step in to hold you faint as smoke, whisper their stories one more time you have to listen to understand. It's a river. It pulls you with tides, and deep underneath it's all blue, sad in a way, but enveloping as peace, low as life. You can stretch yourself around it, let it move your limbs, carry you in a sway of somewhere you've never been but for space of song. in this moment my love smooth, sticky, sultry, sweetly heady. |
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