I was a young man, starving and drinkingnAnd trying, to become a writernAnd I remember that apartmentnThe smell of mice and dustnAnd the old woman with the pretty legsnAll the kisses that I lost to your neck,nI am a tennis player, playing on both sides of the netnAnd I, will get you yet,nAnd I will turn you, I will turn younLike a tattooed pigskinnAnd this time you won’t forget my facenRead my lipsnnA sculpture is a sculpturenMarmalade is marmaladenAnd a sculpture of marmalade is a sculpturenBut it isn’t marmaladenShe said with you inside me, nComes the knowledge of my deathnBut I still had some oranges leftnUnderneath the bednnI came to you, I came to depend on younI came upon you, I came upon your floornBut the god should be left alonenOne mustn’t bang upon the doornShe said for everything that is visiblenThere is a copy that is hiddennShe said, nothing takes on lifenUntil it has been eatennI was working the hole with the sailornAnd you wonder you don’t get invited to more partiesnRead my lipsnnA sculpture is a sculpturenMarmalade is marmaladenAnd a sculpture of marmalade is a sculpturenBut it isn’t marmaladenShe said with you inside me, nComes the knowledge of my deathnBut I still had some oranges leftnUnderneath the bedn