I wonder how this dress should seem to you,
Appearing on your stairwell after three,
With what is called a `good bag and cheap shoes`:
The corseted agenda that was me,
To let the blood completely, and to learn
If it would kill the patient, or revive
What I suspect existed, for a turn,
But trusted not indulgence to describe.
By Wong Kar Wai, and you, I am informed
That love is not a stationary thing,
But only luck and timing. Mine are poor,
And writing is a lover’s luxury.
So I proceed, declined but satisfied,
To button up my coat and say goodnight
