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My Musician

Her jazz mystifies me:

My ears labor in 
as she noodles close,
eminent sweetness sweating my forehead.

I take a trip,
stroking in her ocean --
translucent notes of blue surround
her spontaneous sound,
wrap me in her diversion.
How could I not dip?
That blue of hers --
	so red hot
I almost start to cook, too.

And here I perch: 
no knowledge, no how.
From jazz
	to jazz
it all astounds the same --
so understanding plays
a tired tune.
Who caaaaaaaaares!
with her perfect pipes,
my diggin's done.

Her jump and jive
somehow smiles different
than any blues I've heard before;
And her light too blinding to ignore,
I used to promise to repent, 
But she makes me know I'm still alive.

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