If you think of me, think of me in low light and filters
With a glass of something louche and smoky-green
And Cohen playing whiskey-voiced beneath the window.
Think of me graciously.
Raving and obscene
I am but in your eyes I can erect the highest art,
With shifting hands and mouth in silent worship.
Think well of me, think me kind and clever, elegant, fine,
And such sweet lies I’ll pay with earnest passion.