Tonight, I reached up onto my shelf and drew down one of the most beautiful books I own: a leather-bound copy of The Flowers of Evil (Fleurs du Mal) by Charles Baudelaire, the poems translated into English. I first became aware of these poems when a friend had his character in a forum rpg (so deep and mysterious, that one) send the book to my character. And then, suddenly, I find this book in the store. I couldn’t resist it, couldn’t leave it behind, and it has become one of the favorites, one of the few books of poetry in my collection. Below is my favorite poem in the volume.

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The Cat

Come, beautiful creature, sheathe your claws;

Rest on my amorous heart,

And let me plunge in your marvelous eyes,

Of mingled metal and agate.

When my fingers caress at leisure

Your supple, elastic back,

And my hand tingles with pleasure

From your body’s electric contact,

I see to see my mistress. Her regard,

Like yours, nice animal,

Deep and cold, cuts and thrusts like a sword,

And from her feet to her head’s dark coronal,

A subtile air, a dangerous perfume,

Swim round her brown body’s dusky bloom.