Yet with sweeter smells of liquor.
Blue glows waving on the crest
Tipsy lead brushed against the wooden floor.
Jiving feet stir a still chair
Spin at his fingertip crowns the feminine axis
Gasps exchanged across a shoulder
Trump sways to the crescendo at crack of brass.
Groove is his addiction;
The one a basic step may not tread
Rhythm is the final verdict;
Half-bred rays dispense the last shred
Blazing, light clashes the cymbal rim
Commotion lost in a sudden ring of departure.
Deserted, hair strays to find
Artistry diverging home.
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