SANGUINELLO
O pen my hesitant flesh, devour me.
R ip my pored skin with your nails.
A ngle your tongue to penetrate,
N o drop of juice left unsucked.
G rasp my orb lest I slip through your fingers,
E nding my life cased in dust.
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Wow, now I know what Sanguinello actually means now, I've just realised how brilliant this poem is, and is a well deserved winner!
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Your non stalker...
Pixie x
Lily, you should be proud of yourself. I dont really do 'poetry' cos I suck at it, but that was a stonker. Loved it!
ReplyDeleteCheers David. I used to write poems as a depressed teenager (in the olden days) but when I dug out what I'd written a few years ago, I discovered it was... crap.
ReplyDeleteBut there is something about poetry. I love the dance of words. Perhaps unsurprisingly I adore darker poetry - Sylvia Plath, W.B. Yeats, Blake etc. One of my favourite poems is the synaesthetic Voyelles by Arthur Rimbaud (think a 19th century Brian Molko from Placebo.)
There are many tanslations in English online, but the French is so superior (for once!)
That should be 'translations', obviously!
ReplyDeleteThat's outstanding, Lily, congrats! You definitely bloodied that orange. Every word is perfect.
ReplyDeleteI tried to grasp an orb one time and I got slapped. :P
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