And when I dream of you.
The pages turn.
Highlighting a million and one things.
All captivated by the sound we touched with our eyes.
Each played in beautiful melody.
I'd chase behind you.
Playing a symphony each time you'd smile.
Between the pause we were soft.
Supple.
Forgetting which one of us was sleeping.
Revealing all of our secrets.
You taught me how to sing.
Forgetting to move my mouth.
Each emotion thrown from my stomach.
When I dream of you,
I see all the colors.
So vividly played in beautiful color

I hear those whispers in my ears,
Just like the flutters of a butterfly,
The words that I want to hear,
The words that's lost somewhere,
Like a fine song that leaves the flute,
I strain to hear the tunes of wild,
The bamboo calling out for me to try,
I closed my eyes anticipating the shrill cry,
My lips circled and blew the tune,
Started not right, but there was a music..
Music that followed the sway of trees,
A song that embraced the whole outdoor,
It wasn't my worry if my tunes were wrong,
There was no one to listen to this particular song.
I knew then I should take the steps alone,
My ears tuned to hear those little whispers,
Let me make a song from what I heard and what got lost somewhere,
The filled blanks are my emotions,
When I played them in my flute,
It got better and better..
Even the lost song is for a better tide...

Back in the day music was good.
We enjoyed ourself no matter what part of town.
From the shotguns, to the high-rises.
The urge that instantly becomes testimonial.
Immediately we'd feel better soon as the music plays.
We'd forget everything else.
Like millions of feet echoing through our ears.
Our body reacts.
The experience of true euphoria when the music takes over.
Suddenly the load doesn't seem so heavy.

From the condos to the slums.
The mark of an era.
Going on down the road.
Nothing to do but walk.
Strut your strut.
The struggle to be free.
The stratosphere doesn't seem all so far.
The absolute rule of thumb.
Coming alive blowing out the dust,
The relationship between artist to listener.
To welcome birth.
The experience of it all.
Nothing but the road in front.
Strutting along.
Living, breathing.
To enjoy yourself no matter what part of town.
From projects to burb.
To step off the curb leave work behind. 

Dance the block.

Clocking out.
Stepping to life.

Some of the best memories ever