I'm at the Gemini,
falling in love with the girl
playing the harp on the stage.
Next scene,
we are bed love making,
no mirrors here,
thank Hashem,
because poetry is masturbation,
compared to living.
She knows this,
but you, dear reader,
do not know this,
because you are not a writer,
not a liver,
or an artist,
probably.
Be turned off,
or on,
if you ever were,
because there are no
more pages past Q.
And my face
can't turn my eyes off,
even in sleep,
but yellow hat and all
has the moment mixed,
and I still need sharp pain.