The Eternal Gig

He carries his
ax loosely
under his arm,
with the other arm
tucked tightly
around her waist.

She's speaking
as they walk,
gesturing wildly
with her hands.
He's listening,
nodding, smiling,
nuzzling her hair.

They resound,
these two do,
the muse and the dance,

She writes poetry.
He plays tenor sax.
They're young and full
and hungry in a
wonderful rambunctious way.