MS (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

Love

What's wrong with you, with us,
what's happening to us?
Ah our love is a harsh cord
that binds us wounding us
and if we want
to leave our wound,
to separate,
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us
to drain our blood and burn together.

What's wrong with you? I look at you
and I find nothing in you but two eyes
like all eyes, a mouth
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful,
a body just like those that have slipped
beneath my body without leaving any memory.

And how empty you went through the world
like a wheat-colored jar
without air, without sound, without substance!
I vainly sought in you
depth for my arms
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth:
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes,
nothing,
beneath your double breast scarcely
raised
a current of crystalline order
that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why,
my love, why?

User Rating: 3,5 / 5 ( 157 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

Very well put, Michael. I was waiting for a pointed (forget I said it) comment about their same anatomy, but this says even more. You are too much. Raynette
Yes, yes, yes and yes; and how perfectly put, in this shitty state of ffairs. t x