The life of someone promiscuous is unfocused, unclear
Forgetting the crisp morning sun
On the face of the young beloved
The lines of her eyebrows so sharply defined
Loving anyone else so far from his mind
She is not unique, but seems so then
But after five, but after ten
When morning's gone and won't come back again
Then carpe diem
One morning I crept into your room, Young Kim
And watched you sleep for an hour
Your face a white oriental flower
So vast and soft next to mine
Your body, which didn't belong to me
Still not quite ready for rousing, moved lazily in
rehearsal
While mine trembled violently in the sublime suspended
animation
Of my unresolved arousal
That hour took me back to something so pure
That hour was, for me, transcendental
To long and yet never possess
Is, as Rilke said better
The best
