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| A Siberian Snow Tiger |
I want to seduce you
with gifts of Vincent's clouds
and handfuls of sweet red cherries
we'll float to the edge of sanity
painting daisies inside Vincent's head
in a whirlwind of divine madness
But I know I'm deluded
to you
I'm just a poor woodcutter
climbing on a beanstalk
I'm just a poor woodcutter
climbing on a beanstalk
No
No
I don't want to hear that story anymore
bring me Vincent's palette and his brushes
— Oh Vincent, Vincent my brother
how I'm missing
you these days —
it's too late for me to listen
to the songs of nearly dead cicadas
Nae sa-lang
I want you with cherry juices
running down your little breasts
I want you in the frenzied greed
of poet's jasmine and in the gasping
breaths of your unsated night
I want you beyond your limits
and your cry, beyond your scream
and your whispers
because
I'm the sun-god
the priest of ritual madness
and you the Siberian Tiger prowling
in the virgin snow lands
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