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“I kiss your knees that self-communing prayers chastize, I kiss your feet that would appease the open sea; I wish to plunge my head between your vital thighs and in your hair-shirt weep for my iniquity; there, my dear saint, in that oblivion of the dim Chasm and the Boundless, rapt with scents vibrant and fresh, when I have finished softly chanting my long hymn, I shall assuage my torment on your wholesome flesh.” — Stéphane Mallarmé
I kiss your knees that self-communing prayers chastize,
I kiss your feet that would appease the open sea;
I wish to plunge my head between your vital thighs
and in your hair-shirt weep for my iniquity;
there, my dear saint, in that oblivion of the dim
Chasm and the Boundless, rapt with scents vibrant and fresh,
when I have finished softly chanting my long hymn,
I shall assuage my torment on your wholesome flesh.