A cat sleeping in the afternoon in the master's wide bed, anywhere as long as it's comfy, who wakes up at any hour because someone passes and strokes him, doesn't wake up completely nor does he ask who is stroking him, but leans out of sleep just a little to stretch into yielding length so that stroke might last longer. Maybe that's what love could be like.
Patrizia Cavalli, My Poems Won't Change the World: Selected Poems













