Don't show her the way out,
fore her eyes are starved to stare.
It's not love sharing this room.
you kick her where it hurts best,
point arrows at her for fun,
Keep her away from true love
her womb is impenetrable
starving; her neck is broken;
we wane in a lapping fire.
If you would only love--
she would find pleasure at your touch,
And her heart come back in a truce.
by Paulos Silentiarios from Poems from the Greek Anthology
Don't tell me I'm getting gray,
That my eyes are red and bleared.
It's just love having a romp.
He kicks me where it hurts most,
Sticks arrows in me for fun,
Keeps me awake with lewd tales
My loins are prematurely
Shriveled; my neck is scrawny;
I wane in a waxing fire.
If you would only relent--
I would grow plump at your touch,
And my hair turn black in a night.
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