I'm enjoying them,
but your beautiful words were never meant for me.
I think, as I dog-ear the page.

I have never been the little boy
watching outside a window
as a woman undoes her stockings
as if it were meant for me.

Yet I have spent my life reading all of the
Little Boys Watching Outside Windows as Women Undo Their Stockings
as if it were meant for Them.
(Kids on your block, Jackie Kerouac, Tommy Eliot, even lil' Billy Shakes)

Sometimes I have taken off my stockings
and felt all of the Little Boys watching
as if I were meant for Them.

But more often,
I have been the Little Girl at her window
all the Little Boys outside other windows
women undo their stockings,
knowing none of it was meant for them
and none of them were meant for me.

Perhaps this is the greatest difference between us
(aside from your fame and your talent and your everything else):
I can enjoy beautiful things even if they aren't meant for me. 
I have taught myself to enjoy
All of the beautiful things never meant for me.