Salome
The guards brought to her his head on a silver platter.
His eyes shut as if dreaming and his lips still warm. Drop of blood, dripped from his severed neck, a stain onto the white sheet that wrapped his head. She took in her hands the lifeless face, neared hers to the still warm lips, leaned down and kissed them. Her face had an expression of desperation along with satanic satisfaction.
“I after all kissed your lips, John” she whispered, her eyes full of tears; “I had to have you killed, but I kissed them.”
To what extend the passion and craziness of love can reach, my love?
You got up from the table and got ready to leave.
Could I have killed you to have you totally mine?
But instead I picked the used plates, your glass I brought it lustfully, slowly close to my lips I licked its circumference and finally, with an indescribable satisfaction I drank the last drop of wine left in it.
Perhaps I didn’t kiss you good night however that last drop from your glass was equally satisfying as the seven veils of Salome’s dance.
Manolis Aligizakis 