the embalmer's song
Or if Lolita's only love affair
involved the English language, as Vlad claimed,
there's some relief. My love, you could be tamed
in words. In fact, I'll have to do it. There
is no room to communicate my care
for you in these few lines, unless I drain
your body of all else. I can't retain
whole people in these poems. Skin and hair
will stay, to save appearances, but with
a penstroke I eviscerate the rest—
for shame. I know, it's dreadful to replace
a human soul with quick and dirty myth.
But even as I move to plead my case,
it's not you, but your mummy, I address.
