In winter we’ll travel in a little pink carriage
With cushions of blue.
We’ll be fine. A nest of mad kisses waits
In each corner too.
You’ll shut your eyes, not to see, through the glass,
Grimacing shadows of evening,
Those snarling monsters, a crowd going past
Of black wolves and black demons.
Then you’ll feel your cheek tickled quite hard
A little kiss, like a maddened spider,
Will run over your neck.
And you’ll say: “Catch it!” bowing your head,
And we’ll take our time finding that creature
Who travels so far.

Arthur Rimbaud