Flirtation

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!