To my favorite poet

In every room you enter

Every bottle of wine dies

You open many doors

Only the yours you can not find

Although you are more than great

You should call yourself a misery

If you were my lawful husband

I would throw you into piggery

It is confusing how you manage

In that state of complete drunkenness

To speak the words

Of perfect uniqueness

I am too sober

Maybe that's why

I can not find

Such a glorious rime

Of your bohemian steps

I should follow the trail

To find that beloved bar

Where you have been down and up

At exactly the same time