Tuesday, April 9, 2013
written with a sly grin by jake kilroy.
the brass tones of the saxophone
slid down her throat with the brandy
and she remembered in an instant
how an education had come to her
through a sparkling photo lens
to reach her paintbrush fingers
that used to drag across my window
when she would see starlight rage
harmoniously in the sky beyond
the streetlight that laughed gold
into my bedroom for two years.
but this was before we were here
in the bar of a piano player drunk
scrambling madness across keys
unlocking the door of every heart
with no intention of stomping through
and it was all a dream that got me
when i remembered making love
out of the country out of my mind
waiting for the great train station
to fill with women and bring me home.