When, on an autumn evening, with closed eyes,
I breathe the warm dark fragrance of your breast,
Before me, blissful shores unfold, caressed
By dazzling fire from blue unchanging skies.
There, upon the calm and drowsing isle,
Grow luscious fruits amid singular trees,
There, men are light and strong,
And women startle with eyes of candour.
Guided by your scent to these fair climes,
I see a harbour thronged with masts and sails
Still weary from the tumult of gales;
And with the sailors' song that drifts to me
Are mingled odours of the green tamarind,
And all my soul is scent and melody.
-Baudelaire
As far as I can see you have been putting too much Worcestershire Sauce on your KFC bargain bucket whilst listening to the siren calls of The Village People, somewhere neat the coast of Brittany. Good weekend?
ReplyDeleteI fart in your general direction.
ReplyDelete