The jazzy Sundays…

 The Jazzy Sundays…

The jazz is best on Sunday night in Austin, Texas. Less people roaming the city and the Jazz men are playing their song sweetly and so damn good.

The Sunday Austin people are cooler, less demanding. Drinking the whiskey and listening to the song.

A magnificent wild eyes beauty is dancing alone. She is swaying like the waves in the sea, drowning in the voice of the singer.

I write to my journal. Beautiful Maria, beautiful Maria. I love you so. You are rawness, heartache and my devil lady. I love you sweet and silky voice and I love to see the crimson sea in your face. You are my Texas tornado who adore the jazz and men who love the whiskey and the sin.

Maria saw me adoring the movement of her hips and her shoulders. She came to me looking wild and crazy. She told me. Black heart poet, you write and you write. Words don’t allow you to feel the warmth of my hips against you and the free kisses. Are you waiting for the devil or waiting for me to beg for your attention?

I told her. You can’t control the sea, you can’t stop the coldness of Winter. A woman who love frolic and the jazz. She decides what she wants. She decides if a man is lucky or not.

She smiled and she whispered. Every Sunday, we play cat and mouth. You and me. We love to steal kisses and the forbidden dance. Maybe I am the dangerous one my darling?

I smiled and I told her. You are so damn beautiful my dancing Maria. You are my nectar, my Black Velvet whiskey kisses. I would go with you to hell and back, if you wanted. She smiled and she told me. Austin, Texas, damn close enough to hell and let’s dance to the jazzy songs and forget who we are..

Dancing Coyote