“You are the wounded one in this – you are
The one who needs, while I could not need less:
You are the lover, spreading on a star,
While I’m the dying dream of some caress.”
“Yes, you’re my wound, you’ve bitten me, while I
Must have your serum kiss to heal, transfuse me –
I feel you there, cold in the night, and die;
You stand within my threshold and refuse me.”
“So here I stand, both wound and healing drug,
And there you lie a victim of my bite?
In circles I spin round and stand and hug
A centre which is coldly made of spite?”
“So, yes, you understand, you’re that and more.”
“In spite, therefore, I shut your open door."
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