It was the other kind of jazz
not horns trying to impress you
Shouting, This Is Jazz
then mumble-wandering all over
improvising your jangled nerves.
No, this was piano slow jazz
built for martinis and kitten heels
smoky lounges and rhinestones
this dimly lit dance floor
where we sway close, barely moving
drifting nearer, quietly swept away
Puff Of Smoke Poems 