Four o’ clock in a jazz bar, the coffee is served
A stiff upper lip; a strand behind the ear is curled
She sits in nonchalance, her legs are crossed
Cigarettes burn the vengeance, the music notes get tossed
The images flash in the corner, volume is turned down
The atmosphere is benumbing, conversations float, sugar cubes drown
Her floral dress delights in the wind it catches from the door
She feels teased, as the lecherous eyes crave for more
The music finally finds a rhythm, discarding the discord
The eastern rider on the wall, unleashes the sword
The sword gleams as her eyes do
They tell stories, both of them, of the people they have cut through
The coffee shivers, cold with disrespect
It accuses me of my infidelity; I realize I am the suspect
For all this while, I have been evaluated, by a furtive heart
Coffee, a sipping game and an unzipping art
1 comment:
neat... liked 'discarding the discord'... kind of smelt the cigarette smoke and saw the sword. very graphic...
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