We danced in the street, they gave us
loud music, to the maximum.
Salted blood from the eardrums, from the nose.
It was running rich, burning on the chest.
And we were dancing more and more.
You are getting closer and closer.
Increasingly crowded into the loneliness of
our breaths like a handkerchief, like a glove.
...Only her face was pale.
Hotter, more and more sweaty,
I grabbed her fingers and waist
and, with a gesture out of my mind,
I tore her transparent, well-dressed when naked.
Here is the velvet skin.
Here is the subsoil coming in December.
Here's her breast lit by the
music cutting into the flesh.
The erection is met with a surprise!
It was of electric beauty.
We were the frightened dancers of the street,
slipping on the blood that ended and said...
We were alive--little, little, at least a minute -
dancing our part.
My dancing body
entered her cold, calm, pale, perfect,
and the blood covered the music slowly, cautiously.