funny how when you wanna get into
a michelin star restaurant,
you need to dress like a beggar;
pay like a king.
you never need to know the dish,
care the substance.
just the form
of a meal will do,
on a starry night.
beneath the dark porch,
red meat bleeds.
looking for a prince to dine,
finding only a king.
a king never knows his subject,
nor a prince.
but reviews rave a royal knight,
when oft’ the lips of an angel,
come free of charge.
looking not for a shining knight,
but another blind sight
to dine with.