Last piece of paper

Written by: D Bronowski

Fragrant fumes rose from my loins
On a porcelain platter, I dropped some coins
I wrote this poem while I sat
Do you realize now where I was at?

I was sitting on this same seat
I wonder, can you still feel my heat?

I know of this roll not much is left
I took the rest you could call it theft

Whether you like my poem is not the issue
You will have to use it as a tissue