In winter we go in a little pink carriage
With blue cushions
We will be happy. A nest of kisses rests
In each soft corner.
You will close your eyes so as not to see
The evening shadows making faces through the window,
Those snarling monstrosities,
Mob of black demons and black wolves.
Then you will feel a scratching on your cheek.
A little kiss, like a mad spider,
Will run on your neck.
And you will say to me, 'Look!'
Leaning your head,
And we will take a long time to find that little beast
- who travels so much.
by Arthur Rimbaud (translated by Sunday Reed)
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