Bogi -poem

Bogi

Now everytime I hear jazz
I remember you
The way it makes me feel
does parallel your effect
The smell of passion-fruit
triggers my taste-buds, remembers your lips.
I still feel your warm skin
soft curls
between my fingertips.
The church in Prague
the great Aleksander
the corner cafe of Kafka's creations
and you; my final sensation.
In this place
where my tiny feet never
tiptoed again,
in a place so large of it's people
so secret of their pain,
it shared with me one of it's pleasures.
So in your hands and on your lips
I left a piece of myself
to mingle with the blood of the city
which spoke to my in rhythms,
in subtle thrusts and goes,
a Czechian-Hungarian gypsy-voice.