Munch-Petersen, Gustaf the smile

the smile

you old woman
with the cutting sparks
behind the slow glance -,
with lips as a slash in a lonely fir -,
with teeth as lurking anger -,
ah you -!
ah you -, you -!

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,
on the outmost brink
I'll bite your murderous joy,
I'll love you to ripeness hard as flint -,
you -, ah
you -, dear -!