Aubade

a blast from my sordid past—it even rhymes at the beginning!

Crimson kudzu under watercolor fire of sunrise
the wind gathers a basket of gold
for the languid azure arms of daylight
which slowly unfold. Vesper hymns of pagans
scribed in the skins of trees
whisper cool welcome to the goddess
under the breath of the breeze

But only after she snaps the shades up over the bed
damning my vampires to dust
and in place of the itchy blue blanket spreads
herself over me, asking how 
I like my coffee.

I’d rather have her right where she is
pressing my nerves somewhere, anywhere
with her wettest kiss.

Dawn upon me, you best idea I ever had:
warm pink tongue of morning in my ear!

___________________________________________________________________
From the forthcoming collection Nymphomagic Electroshock and Other Middle-Aged Complaints.
Copyright © 1983, 2017 by Lawrence Roy Aiken.