Little Poems in Prose

In the caresses of thy mane I find once more the langours of long hours passed on a divan, in the cabin of a tall ship; hours rocked by the imperceptible roll of the cradling har- bour, among jars of flowers and cooling foun- tains. In the blazing hearth of thy mane I breathe the scent of tobacco mixed with opium and sugar; in the night of thy mane I see glitter the infinity of tropical azure; upon the swan-soft banks of thy mane I intoxicate myself with the mingled odours of tar, of musk, and of the oil of coconut. Let me bite long, long, thy black and heavy tresses; when I nibble thine elastic and rebel- lious hair it seems to me that I am eating memories.