LUST There is a dark sound Which grows on the hill You turn from the light Which lights the black wall. Black shadows are running Across the pink hill They grin as they sweat They beat the black bell. You suck the wet light Flooding the cell And smell the lust of the lusty Flicking its tail. For the lust of the lusty Throws a dark sound on the wall And the lust of the lusty - its sweet black will - Is caressing you still. Harold Pinter January 22 nd , 2006