The Cat

A poem by Charles Baudelaire

Come, my fine cat, to my amorous heart;
Please let your claws be concealed.
And let me plunge into your beautiful eyes,
Coalescence of agate and steel.

When my leisurely fingers are stroking your head
And your body's elasticity,
And my hand becomes drunk with the pleasure it finds
In the feel of electricity,

My woman comes into my mind. Her regard
Like your own, my agreeable beast,
Is deep and is cold, and it splits like a spear,

And, from her head to her feet,
A subtle and dangerous air of perfume
Floats always around her brown skin.