…a long time ago, before I learned the finish of the dance
could never be a box-office-pleasing slow dissolve to kissing.
No; my dance like theirs properly never ends, it is a danse
apache to the death, so much violence to reason in lovers kissing
and sighing, because they love because it’s impossible,
and pretending a happy ending is just an excuse for more kissing…
This is a poem titled “To the Knife” written by April Bernard and published in her book, Romanticism. I really like both the poem and the design, this looks like the final redemptive scene with a mixed feeling ranging from infatuated and passionate menaced by violence. Is this design is the ultimate noir ending? Or just a profound darkness of the soul?