LOU ANDREAS SALOME, ONE MORNING IN CARACAS

Day has dawned on the guava tree in the garden
and the light slowly covers the cushions,
the glasses with dregs of ice and wine,
the ashes on the carpet. Bokhara.
The light bulb shrinks quietly into itself.
The men look at each other, turn their eyes
to linger on the profile of the woman at the window.
Day has dawned on their tired faces.

They'll go up with her to the bedroom, they'll caress
her small head, her slightly hooked nose,
her delicate arms, her tired back. Ivory.
They'll kiss her ear-lobes, her breasts,
the hair that stands out against her skin.

She turns round,
smiles serenely.
She stands up and moves toward them.
She sits down between them and takes their hands,
kisses one by one their long fingers.
She puts their hands on her cunt and her arms round them.
She lowers her head and hides it between her knees.

She thinks it's time, day has come and the light
will cover the sheets
that will soon receive their bodies.

The Dutch poet exhausted
by walking up and down Fifth Avenue
settles into the seat
of the small car and finishes
the story of her love relationships
like this:

"Rocking a strange woman in your arms,
singing songs in her ear,
whispering flattery and promises
always has... the same inevitable result.
When the woman wakes up
and leaves heading out for other arms,
the murmurs and the whispers
get stuck in your mouth
and your tongue, which before was a bridge and path
and tasted of body, can utter nothing
but the usual toads and snakes.

Toads and snakes, therefore,
belong to the substance of love with strangers.
It could thus be possible, strictly, to speak
of a zoology of the body and its words."

SEBUCAN, CARACAS, OR THE UNICORN OF NIGHT

Seeing off an old friend
at eleven thirty at night
I came across a vampire,
a little vampire lying

in the street on the asphalt
with its head hidden
and its wings folded against its body.
When I turned it over with my foot

the wound scared me
and I thought of human blood and vices
of erotic excess.
Then I saw the edges

of its sagging skin,
the red pulp of its flesh
and I felt it would be right
to say a quick prayer for its soul

which at that moment was hanging
upside down,
and for its eyelids closed
in the hope of eternal rest.

I recited a small prayer
for the unicorn of night
and shut the door
of my house.