What is Pleasure
The supreme pleasure of love
Is the knowledge of doing evil.
We know that all voluptuousness
Makes its home there.
There are other pleasures.
That of watching
Twelve or fourteen leagues of liquid
In constant movement.
That of contemplating nomadic peoples,
Who in their native dignity
Know nothing of mediocrity. Of the desire
To converse with Satan in the form
Of a dog or cat. Or the belief in progress
Which means that others
Will do our work and thank us
For the pleasure.
That of knowing superstition
Is the well of truth, and, should
They live in Paris,
How in every grand theatre
The chandelier is the protagonist—
Really a spellbound whore
Who enjoys flying up at the right moment,
Opening herself utterly,
Taking all requests.