It's late, Li Po, but I’ve some questions, as
the moon rises behind a veil of mist, shapely,
yet demure: How did she guide your pen? And please
how many lovers did your verses win you?
Were they wealthy, were they married? Who
was your favorite? Did she ride you,
with her robe tied loosely,
round her pale, plump belly,
until she smiled like the young moon?
I beg you, Li Po-- share your secrets with me.