THE GUEST
All’s as it was: the snowstorm’s
fine flakes wet the window pane,
and I myself am not new-born,
but a man came to me today.
I asked: ‘What do you seek?’
He said: ‘To be with you in hell’.
I laughed: ‘Ah, unfortunately,
no: perhaps you wish me ill.’
But, his dry hand touched
a petal with a light caress:
‘Tell me, how they kiss you,
Tell me, how you kiss.’
And his eyes, dully gazing,
never lifted from my ring.
not a single muscle shifting
beneath that evil-glistening.
O, I know: to know passionately
and intensely is his delight
there’s nothing that he needs,
nothing I can deny.
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