This Stuff That You Dream Off Poem by James McLain

This Stuff That You Dream Off; is no more
or less,
archaic than when it was I first thought of you.
A fist full of dollars, for a pound of brown flesh
and a spread of your cheeks, helps the moon,
go round in the sky.
Must you crack it open to see if it's fresh.
When your up on it so high, deep in space,
I must fall back to earth too reserve my place
there in front of the line,
where we first met and exchanged that look, once
found on the cover of Vogue.