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A
back road pungent with musk and mint.
So beautiful, that snake. . .
What huge griefs brought you to birth?
Such a repulsive body!
You look like a flowered silk gaiter ribbon!
With your crimson mouth where that eloquent tongue
by which you grandsire beguiled poor Eve
now silently flickers
look, a blue sky. . . Bite! Bite vengefully!
Run! Quick! That vile head!
Hurling stones, hurling, quickly there
headlong down the musky, grass-sweet road,
pursuing it
not because Eve was our grandsire's wife
yet desperate, gasping
as if after a draft of kerosene. . . yes, kerosene. . .
If I could only wrap you round me,
fixed on a needle's point;
far more gorgeous than any flowered silk. . .
Those lovely lips, blazing crimson,
as if from sipping Cleopatra's blood. . . sink in now, snake!
Our young Sunnee's all of twenty, with pretty lips, too,
like those of a cat. . . sink in now, snake!
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