One plays a poet who starts up a band of his own

[sovay]

For asakiyume, Catullus 7:

You ask me how many of those kisses
of yours, Lesbia, are enough and more?
As many as number the sands of Libya
that lie in Cyrene rich in silphium
between the oracle of sultry Jupiter
and Battus the ancestor's sacred tomb
or as many stars as in the silenced night
watch the stolen loves of mortals—
to kiss you so many of those kisses
is, for crazy Catullus, enough and more,
which the curious will never tally up
nor use with wicked tongue to cast a spell.