My girlfriend has a body of vines
and spider legs from her waist down.
She has a poppy head and two cuts instead of eyes.
Blackness drips from the cuts,
I, her sun, turn them into tar.
Her right arm is nothing but bones,
her left one, with open veins and needle fingers
– a bow and a violin.
She rubs them against each other, making sounds
and she wraps me with her silky legs.
Wave me and hide me in your hair,
lift the fallen leaves,
blush again and be a shy poppy.
Or grow blue, white and be secretly intoxicating.
I put you in my mouth, oh, bride in a black gown
I suck your smoky blackness,
the burning multicolor cause.
Had I not met you green
I’d have seed for thousands like you,
– only the one who hasn’t cut you doesn’t know your real sweetness,
doesn’t know your real pain.