I comb my hair
to unwind,
ready or not
here I am.

Behind the bottle
the cat's whiskers,
I'll send off those
references later.

I put on a hat,
look in the mirror,
I'm expecting a visit expecting
the doorbell to ring.

Those sleepy dark lovely eyes . . .

But no love-talk—
I can't take it.
As for love, I want
only to make it.