Munch-Petersen, Gustaf Uddrag fra the smile

I'll drive you
slowly, slowly towards the immovable precipice -,
I'll laugh at your sneering retreat -,
I'll snap at your lingering heel,
you wicked love-hater -,
I'll crush your sunken bosom,
and
on the outmost brink
I'll bite your murderous joy,
I'll love you to ripeness hard as flint -,
you -, ah
you -, dear -!