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ON HARLOW. (OLD POEM)
You were never there
Of course. She was born
Too early or you too late.
But she was a beautiful
Dame, you think, turning
Over pages, gazing at her
Her lips to kiss, her arms
To caress, her soft *******
Your pillows and what she
Was like in bed (alive that
Is not dead). However, she
Died too soon, way before
Your time. Old enough to
Have been your grandmother
Had she lived and had her time.
Too bad. She could have been
The best ******* never had.
But Harlow’s just a dream,
A useless thought, just a memory
Now in books and old guy’s heads
Who may or not have shared their
Beds. You were never there, but if
You had and the gods had been
Quite kind and let you meet and
Kiss and **** and love and live
To old age, you could have lived it
All and not have scribed the page.
A POEM ON JEAN HARLOW.
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