If I fall at your feet
like a surrendered helot
begging for a glance of your eyes
trembling with fear, almost in panic—
if because I am ecstatic when I'm near you
you believe that my heart
will break in my chest,
and I will be, forever,
a slave of my passion—
You are so wrong, fresh and fragrant flower,
I will break your pride like the miner
does the rock.
And if you dare me to fight, I will fight.
I am the sea and you are the froth
that depends on my turbulence.
You make me cry, but someday I will make you cry
And when, exhausted, you offer up your whole life,
begging forgiveness and mercy at my feet—
as my anger is infinite in its excess,
Do you know what I will do in my indignation?
Tear out your heart so I can cover it with kisses.
Thanks Wendy, better don't you think?