O! Tell me again my teacher
hungrily, I listen to your story
ravenous, by candlelight 
call it out in a sooty street

Make your incisions with deep insight
the surgeon stillness of those deft hands
wisdoms draped in laurel leaves
infinite movement, sweet inertia

Shower me, my master
my naivety gladly surrenders
in the wake of your delivery
O Len, sing for me
some story I can dismantle
and in rough thievery
give birth to my own interpretation

Wicker throne; some Grecian harbour
fountain pen refilling
I sip wine imagining your women
one; she comes along
with askance eyes pouring over
the limits of my thin body
whispers 'touch me with your intellect'
and I shiver, stark in its absence

O, it's the little things
the nuanced way you speak it out
the details and the clarity
the hilarious obfuscation 
that galling crystal ball

I could never reach you
I'd be waving, I'd be waiting
breathing my vanilla thoughts
to no one but my drunk self
singular, at the bar
praying to you...

Spin me a yarn
turn on the table
sing for me
O Leonard, you're my man...

(May 2014)