On Whipped Cream and Other Delights

I think it was back in nineteen eighty,
Perhaps as early as nineteen seventy-nine,
When my uncle used to play this kind of music,
From another decade way before my time.

And though I didn’t truly comprehend it,
The image really stuck in my mind,
And that particular childhood memory,
Influenced me to be musically inclined.

Now that I’m a grown man and look back,
I’ve come to identify how it made me feel,
Something so classy was also suggestive,
An album cover with so much sex appeal.

Her dress looked like it’s made of whip cream,
Her arms and shoulders were bare,
The way she touched her lips like a dream,
With a creamy white bow on her hair.

But most of all it was her tempting gaze,
Expressing her captivating femininity,
A truly delicious and delectable sight,
As I began to discover my affinity.

Late in my teens I realized my attraction,
I began to understand and love jazz,
And all due to childhood memories,
Of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.