Upon thy purple mat thy body bare
⁠Is fine and limber like a tender tree.
The motion of thy supple form is rare,
⁠Like a lithe panther lolling languidly,
Toying and turning slowly in her lair.
⁠Oh, I would never ask for more of thee,
Thou art so clean in passion and so fair.
⁠Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me!