Through Erno Laszlo's windows, on the Fifth Avenue
New York, I saw her; bold I was in those days, walked
straight in, asked her to marry me. She smiled, thought
I was too young and, anyway, she was getting married
to a writer, forgotten his name now, but he was quite
famous back then. A flunky came over, asked Marilyn
if I was bothering her, not at all, she said, gave me a kiss
that covered the whole of my face. I blindly fell out of
the shop, people smiled. Ambled past Laszlo's the other day,
they had a picture of her looking out, now that I'm so much
older than her, she looked unbearably young and incredibly beautiful.
