Оригинален текст
Merry, you may be.
for i am the flesh in your tounge.
create to yourself, images of these
glass-eyed figures,
and expose to me, your skin -
whorish as ever.
they speak to me, your pores, your veins,
in a rush of melancholy.
in a stream of misantrophy.
Remove the carpet, so i may be
united with the shades of these.
Blind my eyes,
still i will see - presence, visuality.
i grant you my pale hands,
still i will feel - shape, contoures.