Jazz Personae Poem #9 by Elizabeth Beck

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He rubs his thumb across my skin
when our fingers connect and intertwine
I shiver to realize his affection returned
serpentine hair spiraled locks I long
to touch amazed how beautiful he
is when he reaches for the glass
bead he wears on a leather string
around his regal neck in understanding
for the rings I wear on each finger
to entice the muse and charm magic
that flows from my pen sometimes
without comprehension of its origins
I accept words like fireflies gathered
in a pickle jar that still flicker with delight
not conscious of imprisonment or hoping
I’m one of those kind children who release
bugs back to their families because I cannot
bear to separate them any more than I can
endure letting go of his hand

-Elizabeth Beck

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