Walking through each other’s dreams,

The tattered streets will let you know I was there

first

No matter how hard he tries

He cannot see himself as real as you do you

You and your pure mornings

The heavens will not call out for you

Do you think crows dream about the color of their feathers ?

The immigrant’s dream sits on your front porch

hopeful

Your smile brings tidings of a victory

for a moment he feels like he can bask in the glow of

your sweet delusions

Like a sudden powerful jolt

he feels his youth

millions of little fireworks shooting through his veins

all his tomorrows pigmented with soft pastels

He would like to stay there with you

but, it is only a beautiful lie