The Cat

Charles Baudelaire

Come, my handsome cat, onto my lovesick heart;
Hold back the claws of your paw,
And let me dive into your lovely eyes,
Shot through with metal and agate.

When my fingers leisurely caress
Your head and your supple back,
And my hand grows drunk on the pleasure
Of touching your electric body,

I see my wife in spirit; her gaze,
Like yours, endearing creature,
Deep and cold, cuts and cleaves like a dart,

And from her feet up to her head
A subtle air, a perilous perfume
Drifts around her dusky form.