Unless you ask
I will always make you go
before the birds invoke the dawn,
leave our scent on the crumpled
linens to the cat, still I confess
there are no sweeter lips than yours.
Though it is embarrassing among
poets I love Aristophanes best
my nights filled with dreams of
cherubs twittering in clouds like
adolescent birds drunk on adventure.
Unless you wake me to melodic sounds of Coltrane,
the rich taste of espresso, the breath of fruity herbs,
I will always make you go before
the sun breaks the horizon.
Painting by Michael Lipke (1953)