My hero bares his nerves along my wrist
That rules from wrist to shoulder,
Unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost,
Leans on my mortal ruler,
The proud spine spurning turn and twist.
And these poor nerves so wired to the skull
Ache on the lovelorn paper
I hug to love with my unruly scrawl
That utters all love hunger
And tells the page the empty ill.
My hero bares my side and sees his heart
Tread, like a naked Venus,
The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait;
Stripping my loin of promise,
He promises a secret heat.
He holds the wire from this box of nerves
Praising the mortal error
Of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves,
And the hunger's emperor;
He pulls that chain, the cistern moves.
Dylan Thomas. "My Hero Bares His Nerves".
@музыка:
The Kinks - Come Dancing
@настроение:
elevated.
@темы:
delicatessen,
bookworm
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29.04.2014 в 12:44мужикпаталогоанатом из завещанных ему трупов людей делал... скульптуры.Знаю, знаю, что тут не про такие страсти, но ... навевает.
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29.04.2014 в 13:43Будь я Томасом, я бы порадовалась, что мои стихи навевают у людей подобные ассоциации. )