The oysters on the plate, their shells wrinkled, gnarled and impregnable, hold a secret which you might, with skill or brute force, prize out of them.
Not a pearl, but a life.
And what is of greater worth?
The one adorns her ear or in a string lends lustre to her skin.
The other is all the world; the entirety of everything,
And swallowing that life, I think
"that was very nice."
I discard the emptied shell
Anticipating already the pleasure
Of devouring another.
No comments:
Post a Comment