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The Cat Sat on the Mat
On her vinestump haunches she Supposes the law of tripods And lunges her lithe fourth leg Parastically towards Her white foreneck: a deft Obsessed flick of thin muscles. The sun dilutes. Flat clouds spin A mat of foam beneath the sky. She has at the maniacal hub Of her sentenceless vibrating Scratch stopped and caught my eye In her green glazed double pool of sense. She shuts me from involving My feel for her private gloom. Precocious tides of panic Ravage my pores and rattle Up my fatal tongue while she Is all advantage. Extreme In haughty tropic webs of nerve Large images sit cross-legged In her incensed absurd skull. A white rose cannot believe I saw it loosening apart. In her heart lianas cleave, Impulse comes on without a word, Her compulsive leg leaps from her heart, And the beaked scaled silent myth Of love raucously emerges, Preys entire on her nose and groin, The isotype of Venus in her blood.