Like they do in Jazz

Like they do in Jazz
I remember the night I was in her arms.
My head was on her naked lap when she asked me to love her like they do in Jazz.
She said that many of her former lovers had made such empty promises.
Only to arrive too early and leave her greatly unsatisfied.
So she asked me to make love to her like they do in Jazz
I pondered for a moment why me?
You see I had never made love to a woman before
And all I knew was how to write words on the subject.
You see the mood was right we had spent the hour before just laying in her bed naked talking.
So I rose both to her request and the moment.
I lifted my head to kiss her lips and set the rhythm.
Then like Bill Evans playing Peace Peace my mouth and hands moved and pressed along her nape and bosom.
Leaving no note of pleasure untouched, my love cooed and sighed for she was my saxophone and I her Coltrane.
There would be times when she would cry out to the heavens in moments of bliss
“I demand Jazz when you love me and I demand Jazz when it’s over.
I smiled at her words because I loved the fact that she always demanded me at my best.
As the night was drawing to a close I let her have my catalog.
I gave her Armstrong Goodman, Parker, Ellington, Hawkins, and Monk
And to finish the erotic jam session I let her have Davis.
Giants of the genre clashed in our bed as her lovely neighbors banged on her wall begging her to love me in a silent way, but she shouted back in a passionate howl “Hell No” and “Heavens Yes”. I got lost in her and the bed sheets, like Chet Baker demanded.
And we took five to sleep before the morning came.
And we made holy jazz then to