There was a tender sort of jazz,
That sweetly beamed like moonlight,
From the golden haired ladies,
sad vibrant eyes,
It was like her Beauty,
was from another era and clime,
It was this sublime quality,
that seemed to glow,
From the deep coves of her soul,
that entranced her exotic brunnette friend,
To naturally become her lover,

As for the exotic brunnette,
There was a salsa kind of ballet,
That enchantedly caressed like vineyards,
From her smoky fountain eyes,
It was as if her Beauty,
was from another modest era and clime,
It was this sublime quality,
that seemed,
To sweetly and delightfully rain,
From the enchanted rainforest of her soul,
That mesmerized her golden haired friend,
To tenderly become her lover,

Upon their garden veranda,
Women, drifters, revelers,
And eccentric gypsies,
Fluttered and drifted,
from their lovely exquisite gazes,
like the butterflies,
That would sojourn upon their sunflowers,
And irises petals,

The beauty that glowed,
from these lovely ladies,
Exquisite gazes,
was like the sublime quality,
That deeply moved painters like van gogh,
To paint the stars like champagne,
And Matisse to paint women and flowers,
Like fine wine,
with wonderful hues and vibrancies,

The lovely ladies are like fine art,
Yet down to earth,
They are like their own cabaret,
Whenever they lounge and sway,
Their love tenderly emblazens,
sunflower fields,
Vineyards, and sweet starry nights
Reynaldo Casison