Mortadello

52 MORTADELLO Let asps lurk in the orange blossoms of my hair, Great gasps of death strangle my Judas-love, despair Bite deep into his heart before I draw the veil And steep in murder, harpy’s tooth and claw, my pale Pure face, my bloodless virgin’s face, to dip and bury Its grace in his black blood, my long thin lip made merry With mouthing at his heart-strings, and my white throat working, Its drouth dissolved as the blood sucks, sucks—nightshade lurking In dells of witchcraft where black Hecate shoots out In hell’s lust, her tongue, a frenzy of glee, a bout Of death, her crimson tongue that drips, that drips with blood, The breath of her dead lovers on her lips. Dear God ! Sweet Christ ! My Virgin, sweeter than the joy thou hadst of love Unpriced, when to thy soft blonde nest thou had’st the Dove, And crushed the Godhead to thy maiden breast, and craved Outgushed the Unction by whose grace the blest are saved— Sweet, sweet, oh sweeter when I twine the bond of hate Complete about him, with one kiss to fond to mate His soul with death, cold slime of lust, my heart. O Lord. Control my passion. With black smiling art abhorred Bring all to the great end. How now ? What footfalls stir The hall ? Lucrezia ? Can she guess my suit to her ? Ah no ! not yet. Be still in deeps of prayer intense Bowed low ! And now may God give ear to their incense !