O you—of all below-line notes

The lowest!—Let’s put an end to our quarrel!

Like that consumptive woman, who moaned

All night: ravish me again!

Who wrung her hands, as fights

And close blows and ropes of oaths intruded.

(Her sailor—no longer handsome—slept

As blood dropped on his rum-

pled pillowcase…)

And then, bottoms up

With the glass, of crystal and blood

Laughing…—and she mistook blood for wine,

And she mistook death for love.

“You sleep. I’m—need to go! No preliminaries, no rehearsals—

Just the curtain! Tomorrow, flat on my back!”

Like that consumptive woman, who begged

Everyone: ravish me

A bit more! … (My hands are clean now,

My gaze troubled, fingers stiff…)

Like that woman with her sailor—with you, o life,

I haggle: for another minute

Ravish me! …