I will forego silk for cotton, forsake heavy perfume for oil of wildflowers.
I will indulge feminist Left bank-Dada,
prefer originality over sophistication.
I will get lost in a cloud of adventure, escape the boredom of life in bohemian Paris.
We will lie down on a fluttering meadow coiled between skyscrapers
where we learn to fly above star studded mountains, through green garden grottoes.
Our daydreaming minds lie back on clouds of Aristophanes and there you watch
over me deep in satin fantasy, your breathless voice bends to my listening ear
to translate the Song of Songs for me.