Kae, Virgel, and Red Bird

It is a warm Winter night many years ago.
Kae and Virgel are wearing their black berets.
They are fecklessly happy together.
They have a vehicle they have named Red Bird.
They want to hear jazz tonight.
They are jazz: its inexplicable exactitude.
They teeter out of Red Bird and ignite into
bright carmine wings of laughter each knowing
the patterns of time, existence and each other.
The doors of the club open and Virgel escorts
Kae in, she taking his arm, his face lighting up every
time she does, no matter where or when.
She kisses him quickly on his cheek and he reflects
upon it, time taking that momentary pause, that
caesura that oft time slips away.

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