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

Photographs, imagining
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.