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)