The Cat

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Come, come, sweet cat! Come! On my bosom lie;

I beg you, let the claws retract.

Come, let me plunge myself into your eyes

Where agates fused in iron refract.

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And while my longing fingertips caress,

You writhe and stretch yourself and purr;

My hands grow numb with aching to possess

The life in your electric fur.

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I see my lover in my mind. Her glance,

Like yours, dear beast, as well I know,

Profound and cool, can pierce me like a lance

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Or fend me off. From head to toe

A dangerous perfume pervades the air

That bathes her tawny hide and hair.

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"The cat" by C. Baudelaire