There once was a girl from Nantucket...
Oh wait...
The Cat (Baudelaire)
Come, my fine cat, against my loving heart;
Sheathe your sharp claws, and settle.
And let my eyes into your pupils dart
Where agate sparks with metal.
Now while my fingertips caress at leisure
Your head and wiry curves,
And that my hand's elated with the pleasure
Of your electric nerves,
I think about my woman — how her glances
Like yours, dear beast, deep-down
And cold, can cut and wound one as with lances;
Then, too, she has that vagrant
And subtle air of danger that makes fragrant
Her body, lithe and brown.
Oh wait...
The Cat (Baudelaire)
Come, my fine cat, against my loving heart;
Sheathe your sharp claws, and settle.
And let my eyes into your pupils dart
Where agate sparks with metal.
Now while my fingertips caress at leisure
Your head and wiry curves,
And that my hand's elated with the pleasure
Of your electric nerves,
I think about my woman — how her glances
Like yours, dear beast, deep-down
And cold, can cut and wound one as with lances;
Then, too, she has that vagrant
And subtle air of danger that makes fragrant
Her body, lithe and brown.
I'm sentimental, if you know what I mean.
I love the country, but I can't stand the scene.
And I'm neither left or right,
I'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen.
- Leonard Cohen 'Democracy'
I love the country, but I can't stand the scene.
And I'm neither left or right,
I'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen.
- Leonard Cohen 'Democracy'