Cartier Street Review March 2011

Blue Smoke It begins at night.

Booze, sweat, dimmed lights tobacco, liquor, lotus-eaters, the sting of smoke in red-veined eyes and rapping through skull and bones, a raw war cry— song.

The dirge, wail, smoky, sultry, jazz fingers cheating the keyboard like a set of loaded dice.

Throaty voice, dark molasses post-hypnotic suggestion —going down slow, honey— covering the flaws, keeping reality just under the surface recalled by her gaze, besmirched with sooty lashes begging, entreating.

The swing of her hips, luster of a cinnabar bodice expanding on a rumbling breath.

Through the blue swirls of smoke her almond-colored eyes flash, amaretto sweet, long-sustained notes.

He burns from that voice, 5