Artifacts of emotional distress
left chiseled on your soft dimpled cheek;
sensuous, predatory you stand,
motionless, pedestaled on the edge
of unswerving reason.
This disease of lust fornicating
in my bowels has twisted
all semblance of chaste morality.
I leave these words at the base
of your stone feet.
I have sacrificed all for you,
for my edification by your tongue
I will return an unburied corpse
and bathe you in my blood.
Dear Lady,
loquacious in your speech,
armaments of desire can bring no lasting peace.
With what weapon I choose to close the bounds
between the Old World and the New
on this neutral ground in which we stand
there is no escaping truth.
(From: Love Letters To A Lady Of Renown)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Any poem with the word fornicating in the title is always a great poem. This one is, too.