The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

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Don Quixote

Suddenly, I am astride a donkey
with Sancho Panza. As usual, my head
is in the clouds. And I am stubborn, stupid
as always. Please forgive my making so
much noise when I send dreams to tap against
your window-pane. I’ve come prepared this time.
When you say that you never loved me,
I kiss your feet. When you say that you fear me,
I kiss your knees, your pale and precious knees.
By this time you expect me to have brought
a single rose, reflecting northern skies.
But no, I’ve brought the best Swiss Chocolate,
rife with exotic fruit and hazelnuts.
You turn your face away, embarrassed to
have been acquainted with my person. So
I settle for the shadow of your neck.
Then I move down and kiss your noble arms,
which tower like two queens above a servant.
I kiss your belly, and I kiss your hips.
Then, mercifully, you bend your high brow,
allowing me to taste your angry lips.
And before I understand that this is dream,
I kneel to do what only I do best
in the valley where undying love was born.
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© by Leo Yankevich