Classic Poem

Under the flowers of green pinks, one illusory corpse sleeps
her black hair flows on the floor
arms and legs feebly thrown out, she lies supine on the bed;
under the curtain of this secret chamber
surreptitious, noiseless, comes up one pale mysterious lust.
It's tormented by stifling musk
it suffers, is bashful, and knows all the sensual thoughts.
Ah, now, close to the lamp of spring night
happily it sniffs and fondles the body of dead wax.
It smears oil on the gentle lips and fondles the silky white limbs.
It's one lonesome blue cat
love, do not be frightened by a dream demon into blaming me for this playfulness.