Destroy him like a flower at the end of a field, touched once by the passing plough




#interview with the vampire#iwtv#the vampire armand#assad zaman

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Destroy him like a flower at the end of a field, touched once by the passing plough
Take That, Lesbia
Salvete Omnes!
I got a bit worked up about Lesbia again, but fortunately some of my friends helped me calm down, so I decided I'd write another poem!
Furi et Aureli comites Catulli, sive in extremos penetrabit Indos, litus ut longe resonante Eoa tunditur unda, sive in Hyrcanos Arabesue molles, seu Sagas sagittiferosue Parthos, sive quae septemgeminus colorat aequora Nilus, sive trans altas gradietur Alpes, Caesaris visens monimenta magni, Gallicum Rhenum horribilesque ulti- mosque Britannos, omnia haec, quaecumque feret voluntas caelitum, temptare simul parati, pauca nuntiate meae puellae non bona dicta. cum suis vivat valeatque moechis, quos simul complexa tenet trecentos, nullum amans vere, sed identidem omnium ilia rumpens; nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem, qui illius culpa cecidit uelut prati ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam tactus aratro est.
Furius and Aurelius, comrades of Catullus
Whether he chooses to wander down the highway to hell
Or ascend the stairway to heaven,
Whether he visits Timbuktu or Shangrila,
Whether he journeys to the wilds of the Amazon
And nearly gets eaten by a crocodile
Or travels to the sands of the Sahara
And gets caught in a sandstorm
Or sails the seven seas,
imagining himself as Jack Sparrow or at the least Captain Hook,
Or whether he visits Dover, thinking of the intenseness
Of Caesar's landing and the bravery of the aquilifer
And the barbaric Britons he battled and beat,
Wherever fate may send Catullus.
Furius and Aurelius, who are willing to do any and all of these feats,
Announce to my girl a few...not-so-nice words.
May she live long and prosper with her 300 sleazeballs and scumbags,
All of whom she "embraces" at the same time,
Loving none (in reality) but "loving" all of them at once
May she not look back and sigh, as she has, at my love,
Which, due to her, like a beautiful, precious flower,
Has died, after it was pulverized by a drunk driver.
Curate ut valeatis,
Catullus