As I arose this morning, I went to find my lover,
but when I walked out
he wasn’t there.
So I set out for him in Harlem.
By the smoky, sultry jazz clubs,
to the steamy streets and passionate roads.
Past the man and his sax on the sidewalk,
collecting money in his old, dusty case,
to the prostitute on the corner,
bent and broken.
I asked her,
“Have you seen my lover?”
With a wrinkled smile she said “Yes.
He went to play in Cielo lounge.”
So I went, inside
Cielo Lounge,
walking past the smokers,
and Hennessy drinkers.
I stood in the midst of that heat
and I looked on stage,
and saw him,
Singing a song...my song...a song for me...so deep.
The thrust of his sax,
and the moans of the bass,
and the pulsating heat
of the drums and the snares.
I asked him
if he knew who I was.
And he got down from the stage,
sweet with heat,
and kissed me, and I melted.
Into his arms, into the fire in his eyes.
Into the beat of his heart,
and the sex of his jazz.
I soon woke up
from my dream, yearning...
and decided to seek my lover
in the streets of Harlem.