Swirling fog, textured smoke leads to fire
electricity etches its path
the promise of storms stirs an urge to run
laugh as the sky pummels with rain
the heat rising from the skin
body’s sweat
a sudden punch of sax’s cry
against the bottom of a bass’s moan
brush strokes against the skin
rhythm, a swish and a purr
back beat syncopation
fingers trace the arc and curve
music growing out of epiphany improvisation
lips clasp the reed feel the vibrations
understand the need
hands on the conga make it growl
the pace picking up
the horns rising to a howl
trumpet holding a note
twisting and turning
keening a cry
opening a scream
high hat sizzles, then crash
drum sticks keep a simpler stronger beat
brass flashes
gleams in the light
short bursts of hot notes
grouped in gasps
the music is over
breath held in the pause
“Baby, if you love me,
play that song again”
For Lane
10:33 PM
Oct 8th, 2006
Alexandria, VA
Honorable winner
Adding your comment:
Glad to see you are aware of the gods of sound. It will help greatly when you put your lips to your pen and blow words across the page. 
We do the best we can. I am glad you picked up on the erotic rythmn at the end. I wanted to do erotica musically and subtlely. I think I succeeded, but that may be pride speaking. Peace, Tom B.
