Press your southern words on the back of my ears,
Plant my feet on your brick lain streets;
Let me remember that the body is made to work out passion,
and music made to dulcify the present, erect a mythic past;
Sensualize my coldness with your uninhibited hospitality,
Color me beautiful and render me musical in a glittery, exotic shine;
Let me forget time as a linear entity,
Blur those rigid past and present lines.
Slow me down for a solid southern charm, turn my East coast quickness into a jazzy, lulling loiter;
Transport me to a colonial, iron-balconied street,
in the throws
of a magical French Quarter.