. individually the wings of the words,
. individually the souls of the words,
. the commas, the periods, the thrill
. and the passion, and finally
. your name.
Then with the Delete key I obliterate
each word, the wings of the words
and the souls of the words, the commas,
the periods, the thrill and the passion,
and finally your name.
I obliterate that vertigo,
the swaying from no to yes,
the loss of balance
and the collapse of one into the other.
I obliterate the towns and the trains,
and the embraces in that summer,
I obliterate the daze, the rains and the rooms,
and you, enlightened and confused, nude and white
amidst the rooms, with the three marriages
and the two Germanys, I obliterate you.
My omniscient, crumbly parchment,
as priceless as if pre-Christ, undeciphered,
I obliterate you with the cold sores
from that feverish fall,
with the air sweaty with flu, palpitations,
moans, melding, sleep and more, and again.
I obliterate you with the aspirins, the drops,
the chamomile tea, the eucalyptus balm,
which I rub slow and long
into your slow and long body.
I obliterate you with your naïve oddities,
with the vanity, with your pouting lips,
with the all-embracing arms
and the incinerating fingers.
I obliterate you while you are dreaming of soup,
engrossed in a book, enlightened and confused
. omniscient, beautiful
. and loved, I obliterate you,
. and thus I obliterate myself also,
. I obliterate love,
. because we do not deserve it.