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.