Harold Pinter



I felt soft fingers at my throat
It seemed someone was strangling me

The lips were hard as they were sweet
It seemed someone was kissing me

My vital bones about to crack
I gaped into another's eyes

I saw it was a face I knew
A face as sweet as it was grim

It did not smile it did not week
Its eyes were wide and white its skin

I did not smile I did not weep
I raised my hand touched its cheek
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