1 To W. Between you and me, there is somebody, always, as if We are doing something illicit when we just look at each Other in a crowd: the informer watching us both; a sneak Collecting the data on how you drop eyes on my lips And how long I hold your sharp-edged ice of eyes in my mouth; A policeman who is suspecting me of a crime, since you, Blinded, cannot find your lost eyes inside fur-walled rooms and rules, Your eyes crushed between my teeth, thawing still on my bare tongue; A judge who decides how close, long you see me, your eyes licked, Leaking, tasted, swallowed by me, dissolved in my flesh; a guard In a jail who punishes me for leaving you blind; a nun Who preaches to me on my sin, your eyes hidden In me.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Returned Mail
Collected Poems

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