LXXXIX THE WOUNDING MEMORY
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
I REMEMBER ... (at what hour of the day is it not before my eyes!) I remember the manner in which She lifted her hair with her slender fingers so pale.
I remember one night which she passed, her cheek upon my breast, so softly that happiness held me awake, and the day following she had upon her face the mark of my rounded nipple.
I see her holding her cup of milk and regarding me sideways, with a smile. I see her, powdered, her hair dressed, opening her great eyes before her mirror and retouching with her finger the red of her lips.
And, above all, if my despair is a perpetual torture, it is because I know, moment by moment, how she swoons in the arms of another, and what she demands of her and what she gives.