With wet lips,
I press you against me.
Taking in your tone, and
Your cup-shaped mouth piece,
All those raw materials that fit so perfectly,
Upon these parts that hold you.
With each blow, your structure becomes warmer,
As the rhythm of each breath that I breathe so deeply into you,
Exits your bell,
Lush and sometimes out of tune.
We can only strive for a semi perfect.
Go ahead, copyright these sighs that flow from the internal me.
So, they may be privilege to you and
That we might live once again with melody,
As we tuck one another into our front pockets.
Next to quarters stamped 68’ and, 78’.
As you teach me how to strike new tones by means of this tongue.
Triple and double, I am composed.