Hide their faces from me, I cannot abide their faces.
But if I must see their faces, paint them dark colors,
And cover the Gorgon’s stained red with a veil:
For she more than any has crushed me like a flower,
She who plucked a live carnation, wild, from the hills,
And so that she might gather to her pug-nose
My sweet scent, pressed me in between five ruby nails,
But let my wilted petals and my pollen fall.
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