That Whiskey Blue Sway by Apryl Skies
(for Herman Jackson)

Fingers fierce and fragile
dance the porcelain fire away,
setting ebony to ivory 
against the white of evening lights…

Tonight, even the houseflies 
have their sway and swagger, 
ghosts will stride
with secrets placed pocket-deep
and everyone knows
where the whiskey flows-- 

Cigarette to flame,
fingertips to quiet lips,
a melody unbroken beneath 
the veil of whispering…
She’s got that whiskey-blue sway

Across the ballroom
her eyes are invitations
She wears these blues 
like a little black dress

Flowers peek 
from the tuck of curls,
(all red and smiling)
hips set to boogie and bass,
a swing of taunt
against eyes and their flight 

And tonight patterns emerge 
from black and white
as an un-masked clown 
sits dim in the corner,
chasing the madness to glow

The smoke and music fills, 
unmoving in its sway;
unlost within the depths of corners,
we become poetry written
on cocktail napkins
and the rhythm that moves 
the night to a crawling groove.
Apryl Skies © 2012











Painting © Carlos Scalise


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