Alsace in F flat

a poem about a saxophone weekend in Alsace/France

the room smells of baguette
and bare feet tap the rhythm
of an F flat blues until we feel it

melt into our core and
spread across the place
like smoke,

we wait for fire
to consume us and

with moist & quivering lips,

i’m breathing life into you, fingers
glide alongside shining brass and

it is dark outside�"

we’re bleeding tunes
from open wounds,
lose our life along the way
until we feel the chords
bent into us and blend

with what we got
to give,

there’s wooden floor
beneath my feet,
reed rough against my tongue,

stretched on patched patterns,
pulsing bare we slide

on the volcano’s mouth

with nothing in between but
lava sheets, torrid heat,
lunatic fear to

hit the ground

before the music splits our bowels

and fiercely
loves us back

Reviews

[hmm]

kinda hard to read, that gray against that black, But i loved the emotion in it, had me keep reading. Nicely written