Читать книгу This Place of Prose and Poetry - Lucian Krukowski - Страница 12

Dearest Loosh, you are so louche.

But I’ll not meet you in the hay today.

Perhaps tonight, when the bed-bugs bite—

although we must remember

that they like us best

those times we scratch and sweat—

before the light returns at morning.

So they do; it’s true; and so do you—

like me that way too.

But a little blood and many scratches

are good for healing the painful swellings

of our hidden and forbidden noonday itches.

Shoosh, Loosh!

The dogs are listening to your laughter.

And Lokshen listens to me laughing too—

laughing at your scratched-up torso,

the flakey skin beneath my nails,

the blood-flecked sheets,

and the curious ways you have

of making love.