It's the rain again; splattering
drops smile into my face
with koel thoughts of mango.
Your camouflage was perfect-
black on black, white on white.
It’s no jazz for me tonight.
Did you think we were molded plastic
that our lives could intertwine
then untangle at will
and each walk away whole?
The ghosts will call for me tonight.
No, no jazz for me tonight.
My skin still quivers to a drumbeat
strumming the rim of a vibration.
The castanets shall fly tonight!
Hey, no jazz for me tonight.
(I am not a jazz expert and so any unscientific use of its meaning is unintentional)