Poison - Kinga Fabó

I don’t know what it is but very ill-

intended. Surely a woman must belong to it.

And something like a laughter.

I am rotating the city on me,

rotating my beauty. That’s that!

Many keys, small keyholes whirling.

Gazes cannot be all in vain. And the answer?

Merely a jeer.

The vase hugs and kills me, can’t breathe.

Now my features – even with the best intentions –

cannot be called beautiful.

And her? The girl? Her trendy perfume

is Poison. For me a real poison indeed.

And the vase?

It hugs and kills me.

But what am I to do without?

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Kinga Fabó (born 1953) Hungary

Translated by the author

Source: Poethead