Momentary

The reverent miscue of keys,
the rain-kissed ethereal tangles
of notes, bleeding from side-glance cellars,
waiting at our rabbit-holes,
our imperial stairwells,
breeds an ecstasy of unknowing.

It is the beauty of misfits,
of exhaustible chance: moments
that live and die within
expression- the salt
of a sheltered tear.

Love of punctured melodies
is the descent of a fallen eyelash:
the madness of wanting to stay,
to exist separate of consequential
beauty, and maybe to just
stand in the rain, rendered
absent to everything but
jazz bar anomalies
and know the sound alone
is enough for me.

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