After the Blade's Fall
by Beatrice

Bite me
In this July's night who trembles
I tremble:
It's the blood's heat.
And the blood slips away - what pity!-
Grip me to you
In body's sweat.
Our body.
Death smells strange:
Blue- the triumph
Pink- we've no regrets
Bronze- immortality.
Je t'aime
-I like my fault-
and I love your masculine ripe regret
( I'll rest unriped for ever.. I.. your lovable children)
Now the corpse
Fall down
(burns the quicklime on me.. on you).

Where does the eternal torture hide herself?

The quicklime rapes me
My bones my eyes my skin
And I dream of you.
I'm always dreaming it's you.

Je t'aime.. toujours.