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.