Here, let me.
I’ll pump barrels of tears.
I’ll push against the ribs.
I’m jumping! I’m jumping! I’m jumping! I’m jumping!
They fell in.
You can’t jump out of your heart.
Through cracked lips,
From my smoldering face,
Cindery kisses leap up.

Naked and shameless
Or trembling in fear,
Give me your beautiful mouth.
My heart and I never live in May,
We’re stuck
In a hundred Aprils.

I am with you, I, her precursor,
I am wherever there is pain,
I nail myself
To every tear.
There is no more that can be forgiven,
I’ve cauterized once-tender souls,
A thing far more difficult
Than taking a million Bastilles!

And when
He arrives,

Announced by rebellion,
And you greet your saviour,
Then I’ll
Rip out my soul,
Stamp on it
To make it big,
And hand it to you,
Bloody, for a flag.

On you,
Pickled in love,
Wetting the centuries
With weeping,
I turn
My back, using the sun
As a monocle
For my bulging eye.

No gray hair in my soul,
No doddering tenderness.
I rock the world with the thunder of my voice,
Strolling, looking good—
Twenty-two.

-adapted from Mayakovsky, Russia's sexiest Futurist poet