LIKE A MOON TO HER VENUS

I can't really tell you about Courtney,
not the whole story:
somehow it wouldn't do
yet neither would saying nothing

She was a pretty Jewish girl
who loved clothes, make-up, and jewelry

The first time we talked was so pleasant:
we walked about in the garden,
Venus was bright in the sky
and I taught her how to tell
the difference between a star and a planet

Her hair wasn't really blonde
but she could sell it:
she could sell me most anything
any madness any dream,
because she was a dream-believer
and I wanted to believe in dreams again
(they were pleasant dreams)

Later, sleepless and suffering
in the throes of her mania,
I wished to the devil I'd never met her
and then being rid of her,
couldn't help but sadly wonder
if things might have been different

I hope she's tending her snap-dragons
at the nice condo her parents keep for her
and not in some sterile psych ward:
but I'm like a moon to her Venus
and I don't dare find out