Just--Like--Heaven

So, I'm lost again in Bohemia with my French cuffs               still dragging                    through the wine; but they say my slippers                         are quite elegant, a statement in             Italian leather (or a letter from my lover) and I smoke a gold tipped cigar like    a duchess             or a greedy centipede - my hands all gesturing at once, sucking conversation from the thieves and courtesans                                                   drowning in my bed. I was once a painting - something borrowed from Gainsborough                                    (or Sargent) and my legs         are the late