Midsummer Feast

Here I am then, nearly blind in both eyes,
Half-dead, half-lame,
Touched in the head, frothing at the mouth,
A fearful, shrinking worm
Crawling in your carcass, oh mystery,
Raising hell, chewing you out.

My hunch is, you prefer to remain forever
Unthinkable and unsayable,
Merely delectable, so that I may continue
To sate myself on your sweet appearances,
Your luscious, flower-strewn meadows,
Your vast banquets of evening stars.

— Charles Simic

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