A poem I like with no qualifications

The room was cheap and sordid,
hidden above the suspect taverna.
From the window you could see the alley,
dirty and narrow. From below
came the voices of workmen,
playing cards, enjoying themselves.

And there on that ordinary, plain bed
I had love's body, had those intoxicating lips,
red and sensual,
red lips so intoxicating
that now as I write, after so many years,
in my lonely house, I'm drunk with passion again.

-C. P. Cavafy