The folds of the sea crack like whips on my skin. And the stars of
the sea tear me open. The ocean's evening is lonely from screaming
wounds. But the lovers find the good death of which they dreamed.
Be there soon, sorrowful eyed woman. The sea hurts me. Your hands
are cool saints. Cover me with them. The sea is burning on me.
Help then... please help... cover me. Save me. Cure me, friend.
He destroyed it. Ilka Leipke was enraged. She said that Mechenmal
was coarse. The little man had soothed her with loving caresses.
Later he sat down at the girl's writing-table. He took a piece of
stationary and wrote:
To Kuno Kohn.
Miss Leipke, my bride, hereby lets you know that she gladly
gives up any further poems; they serve no purpose at all.
My bride has told me everything. Be assured that your
courtship makes us laugh.