Then, bedded atop cushions of dark blood,
the blonde neck of a white woman.
The sun ravaged her hair
and licked the length of her pale thighs
and kneeled around her browner *******
yet to be deformed by vice or birth.
Next to her lay the ***** horses’ hooves
had stamped his eyes and brow to a pulp. He dug
two of the toes on his ***** left foot
deep into her small white ear.
She, though, lay and slept like a bride:
at the brink of happiness, of first love
as before the outbreak of a wave of Ascensions
of warm, youthful blood.
That is, until the blade
sank into her white throat
and spilt an apron of dead purple blood about her waist.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 5:08 PM UTC
Then, bedded atop cushions of dark blood,
the blonde neck of a white woman.
The sun ravaged her hair
and licked the length of her pale thighs
and kneeled around her browner *******
yet to be deformed by vice or birth.
Next to her lay the ***** horses’ hooves
had stamped his eyes and brow to a pulp. He dug
two of the toes on his ***** left foot
deep into her small white ear.
She, though, lay and slept like a bride:
at the brink of happiness, of first love
as before the outbreak of a wave of Ascensions
of warm, youthful blood.
That is, until the blade
sank into her white throat
and spilt an apron of dead purple blood about her waist.
Translation from 'Morgue' by Gottfried Benn