My lover knows 
what she wants,
made that clear
at the end of our
second date in front
of a fire in my garden,
sparks in the air
and her time 
too precious to waste.

I don’t want to live
with anybody, don’t
want to get married.
There’s three things
I need from a boyfriend
and I already know
you can make me laugh.
But will you travel
with me, a lot, 
and will you take
me dancing?

Fifteen years now
we’ve laughed and danced
in basement clubs–
hottest spots all seem
to be underground–
to driving Brazilian blues
at a dive in the Mission,
Afro-Cuban in Havana,
old jazz on a drizzly
late night in Paris.

So tonight at the end
of a quaranteen year
when old trees aren’t
the only things that seem
to fall without warning,
there’s a dance band 
in the park so I’ll try
to kick out a few jams
while staying upright.
At worst I might die
in my sweet baby’s arms
and that wouldn’t be so bad.