as a young man I was in love
with one of my female teachers,
a mysteriously beautiful bio-chemist.
all I did outside (and in) school
was dream of fondling her. I also
smoked a lot, to both distract and concentrate
(Kents, with the micronite filter).
thus back and forth I went, quite happily.
love levels all of us to aristocrats
that we may enjoy, guilt-free, a range
of hormonal impetuosities, and memorably near-fatal
quicksands of obsession.
the secret of life is
to be a world unto oneself
in which things like war and money and bio-chemistry
become irrevelant to your waiting
for the great moment which is always
coming and therefore cannot arrive.
this I humbly sat and learned, in awe of
beauty now decrepid, blank in name.
we tallied up the countess’ countless indescretions
(was he out of town again?),
but not her calumnies or cartwheels
less is more but more is not less
these random aromas were by design
meant to vanquish
lisps and stutters
behind open shutters
come nun come awl
there will be foreplay