I think of myself
whose hand caresses
the willing body
lying open to any assault
and meanwhile listen
supine on the throbbing
of your heart
to a voice grating
and squeaking
the word
‘love'.
I think of myself who
quietly count your
every crevice and bump
known and unknown places,
of myself who prods
and reduces for myself
and chases and hunts
to consider earnestly
the cause
of so much desire.

Translated by Boris Peters