It seems that missiles have lit up the sky. No words
around me. There must be a racket
that I don't know, don't hear. I call an expert,
enough books, bodies, for him to find
a point from which everything could start
over. Not much time needed. He lays out a black cover
and orders me to surrender my
nakedness. He puts on black gloves and touches me.
Every so often, he asks if I can feel it,
if anything hurts. Inch by inch,
he sucks me, lies down on me heavily
and bites my ears. I wait for him to find that
spot where the universe opens up and I'm gasping
for air, when I feel as I do lying
next to you, when I put my hand
on your chest and tremble. I can use
a needle, he suggests. I'll prick your
chest, hands, I'll pierce your penis,
some people still enjoy that. What should I say?
Let him use his knowledge, all of his
capabilities, let him somehow bring on back
that feeling for a second, a feeling that's been lost
.
He doesn't understand. He helps everyone
but I wish for something that does not exist,
something I've made up, something only I can
erase. After hours, he gives up, packs up
his instruments and leaves. My wounds burn,
all that I feel.

Translation: 2003, Elizabeta Žargi and Timothy Liu