the love of my body

Gustaf Munch-Petersen: Towards Jerusalem

I love the old

women with

the young limbs and

the young love –

the ancient old –!

 

- - - |

 

to become like that, o women,

you must be plundered

for all,

and against the innermost guardian

of your being

shall that, which you detest, be

invincible –

and over the backs of your necks

the cattle of

the earth must have wandered

without love, while

your insides scream:

take me, o

you my most beloved!

(GOD! are we born

in the show of splendour, just

to become more beautiful

the more naked we stand

with our scars –?)

- - -

and God, if it

is such, then I must

laugh at my own love, that

to become

old is to become

rich with You, and

to die in poverty, is

forfeiture –

aah, how I laugh –

aah aah aah –

 

- - - |

 

hm, you my new love’s

own bitch –

we are so rich,

I think, that

we can both laugh

at these young

beggars,

poverty-devils of four soul-years –

- - -

if I should kiss you

between

your wounds, there would

probably not be much

love –

and you have, and

I have

a hole for the Lord’s lightning, where-

through they unobstructed

shoot towards their destination –

thanks LORD, for

our TWO light years –

hm and thanks bitch

for…  –