Vonce

Last week, I was coming home in the secluded dark of the just-post-solstice Hudson River Greenway. I vaguely make out a... well, a vonce would be the correct term. A little annoying thing in my mirror.

“Promise you'll come and visit your tanteh soon or I won't let you go, my little vonce!” said his aunt, tightening her hold.

Like we first met' and Checking in a lot of Hotels with those Twin Beds, my my how Lucille + I suffered every time that we did the Vonce (sex) you know?

When you ain't sharin' sex with the one you love, you jest havin' sex, or, like the young folk say, you doin' the nasty. Doin' the vonce, what they called it back in my day.

... Soldiers, but whatever it stood for, it was a place where we could drink our rum, smoke our cigarettes, and “do the vonce”—a nickname for making love.

Re-hearing the Curtis Mayfield-avant soul of "Judgment", the proto-acid jazz groove vonce of "Tune Up", the neo-soul slow drag prophecy of "Rosemary Blue" (penned by Neil Sedaka!) 25 years later, I know now that I totally slept on a most seminal pop vocal album.

"Man, when I was with Basie," he'd say, "we'd come up on the vonce, and the man would put the ding-ding here."

Blowin' out here would be more like wailing into the heavenly vonce, rather then huffing and puffing changes in a dark cellar.