Classic Poem

Under the summer sun, a blue cat —
I hold her lightly, my hands turn itchy;
her hair shifts, and my heart
catches a cold, body a fever.

Is she a magician? Her golden eyes
breathe deeply, terrifying;
throw her, she falls airily,
perspiring green shines.

Though in such sunlight,
she hides an air of invisibility.
All her skin turned into an ear,
in the smell of barley, what is she watching for?

Under the summer sun this blue cat —
I rub my cheek against her, how beautiful,
deep, elegant, terrifying —
I'd rather hold her till I die.