Carnale

He seems to me equal to
gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your sweet speaking
and lovely laughing—oh it
puts the heart in my chest
on wings
for when I look at you, even
a moment, no speaking
is left in me
no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under
skin and in eyes no sight and
drumming fills ears
and cold sweat holds me
and shaking
grips me all, greener than grass
I am and dead—or almost
I seem to me.