I wanted wine and jazz

I wanted red wine and jazz:

You brought me (smoke) (glaze) and a (headache).

I took in all you had to offer.

The drip, wisps of your gold hair glinted in the shadows and tree light.

My lungs inhaled the honey scent of your neck

and I sweetly sat with you.

I wanted calm exhales, forgetting and Miles Davis:

you brought me (leaving-behinds) (pot) and some (frustrations).

I wanted all the good in you and none of the disaster you made me.

The weight of your back pressed my chest.

My heart tried beating its way toward you,

to place its little hands behind you and show you support.

(This is what I imagined as my eyes became glassy

and our world's delicacy shown itself see-through)

The lights blurred and danced and faded and I started to hum the Kind of Blue I wanted.

You told me the low base buzz of my chest lulled your senses and made you a child.

I starred at the tree and the lights till the world became perfectly clear.

I wanted red wine and jazz.

I did not want you.

But I loved this golden, quiet moment.

But I did not love you. 

Photo by John Henry. Words by Jordan Shappell.