Perhaps your quiet days, my blonde little sister, will also drop like silver bells that ring softly with slumbering sins.
Laburnums now throw their poisonous yellow where the pale snow of the acacias once lay. Ardent clematis show their deep blue where the devout clusters of wisteria once peacefully resounded.
Sweet is the gentle game of lustful desire; yet sweeter to me are all the cruel raging passions of the nighttime. Yet even sweeter than any of these to me now is sweet sleeping sin on a hot summer afternoon.
–She slumbers lightly, my gentle companion, and I dare not awaken her. She is never more beautiful than when she is sleeping like this. In the mirror my darling sin rests, near enough, resting in her thin silken shift on white linen.
Your hand, little sister, falls over the edge of the bed. Your slender finger that carries my gold band is gently curling. Your transparent rosy nails glow like the first light of morning. Fanny, your black maid, manicured them. It was she that created these little marvels.
And I kiss your marvelous transparent rosy nails in the mirror.
Only in the mirror–in the mirror only–only with loving glances and the light touch of my lips.
They will grow, if sin awakes, they will grow, become the sharp claws of a tiger, tearing my flesh–
Your head rises out of the pillow, surrounded by golden locks. They fall around it lightly like flickering golden flames that awaken at the first breezes of early morning. Your little teeth smile out from your thin lips, like the milky opals in the glowing bracelet of the moon Goddess.
And I kiss your golden hair, sister, and your gleaming teeth–in the mirror–only in the mirror–with the soft touch of my lips and with loving glances.
For I know that if ardent sin awakes the milky opals will become mighty fangs and the golden locks become fiery vipers. Then the claws of the tigress will tear at my flesh, the sharp teeth bite dreadful, bloody wounds. Then the flaming vipers will hiss around my head, crawl into my ears, spray their venom into my brain, whisper and entice with a fairy tale of savage lust–
Your silken shift has fallen down from your shoulder, your childish breasts smile there, resting, like two white newborn kittens, lifting their sweet rosy noses into the air.
I look up at your gentle eyes, jeweled blue eyes that catch the light, that glow like the sapphire on the forehead of my golden Buddha figurine.
Do you see, sister, how I kiss them–in the mirror? No fairy has a lighter touch.
–For I know well, when she wakes up, my eternal sin, blue lightening will flash out of her eyes. It will strike my poor heart, making my blood boil and seethe, melting in ardent desire the strong chains that restrain me, till all becomes madness and then surges the entire–
Then hunts, free of her chains, the raging beast. She overpowers you, sister, in furious frenzy. Your sweet childish breasts become the giant breasts of a murderous fury–now that sin has awakened–she rends in joy, bites in fury, exults in pain and bathes in pools of blood.
But my glances are still silent, like the tread of nuns at the grave of a saint. Softer yet is the light touch of my lips, like the kiss of the Holy Ghost at communion that turns the bread into the body of our Lord.
She should not awaken, should remain peacefully sleeping–my beautiful sin.
Nothing, my love, is sweeter to me, than pure sin as you lightly sleep.