Cities and stars melt like sugar.
Time or war shut them down, my love.
I sat down with you at the bottom
of those wells of stone, lit by frost.
They coalesced in a single picture
saturated with red, like the roofs of Zagreb.
In that city you wounded my heart
to pleasure, to pain, like I did later in Paris,
and only then I recognized the world
for what it was. I consented
that its good should also do evil
and its deformity carry ecstasy.
I never asked to be cured of passion
never asked to recover my sanity.
The ruins of my heart stood like a coliseum,
rebellious to oblivion, where could I go ?
I walked the streets clothed in your blood,
poems fell from me, like petals,
like bandages. This is not a mystery.
— All my poetry belongs to your body.
I wear it like a jasmine garland
on a tight crimson dress,
I laugh and dance at the impermanent stars,
the porous sky, I wear it like sweat
in the small of my back
to leave behind,
as I pass your table,
a mingled scent of flowers and flesh.