Two Good Sisters

I love two sisters, sly and scruple-free.

Nothing of them is innocent, and scarce

A virtue you will find. But of their face:

Unparalleled in beauty. Just for me

They make their beds a welcome treasury—

Insane delights so nestled in once place!

So softly sweeps the sheets of satined lace,

And both disrobing, climb in there with me.

—Whereas I find their bodies rife with dust

And soaked with maggots, pus and lepers’ rash;

Their skin, once glowing now a tainted rust…

I panic but I escape not their flesh—

These sweetling sisters now I truly see:

The one is Death, and that Debauchery.



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