He puts his cheek against mine
and makes small, expressive sounds.
And when I'm awake, or awake enough,
he turns upside down, his four paws in the air
and his eyes dark and fervent.

Tell me you love me, he says.

Tell me again.

Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over
he gets to ask it.

I get to tell.
    

Mary Oliver "New and selected poems, Vol II"