Kitchen

If love was jazz,
I’d be dazzled
By its razzmatazz.

If love was sax,
I’d melt in its brassy flame
Like wax.

If love was a guitar,
I’d pluck its six strings,
Eight to the bar.

If love was a trombone,
I’d feel its slow
Slide, right down my backbone.

If love was a drum,
I’d be caught in its snare,
Kept under its thumb.

If love was a trumpet,
I’d blow it.

If love was jazz,
I’d sing its praises,
Like Larkin has.

But Love isn’t jazz.
It’s an organ recital.
Eminently worthy,
Not nearly as vital.

If love was jazz,
I’d always want more.
I’d be a regular
On that smoky dance-floor.

Linda France.