Stan Getz

When the sax starts,
I forget the days in Denmark. They were

Never like the girl shaking her legs, her hair,
The shape of her neck.

They were like gin martinis near the pool,
Topless, dancing, shadows of the palm trees.

But here I am, in the studio. It’s too hot.
She reads Italian poetry and the smoke curls from her lips.

She speaks of her French lover
And a plane ride to Mazatlán.

She opens the coolness of the universe,
The essence of everything incredibly hip:

The goatee and your smile.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: