(no subject)
'You're like some rock the sea is swallowing -
what is it that brings on these moods of yours?'
Nothing mysterious: the ordinary pain
of being alive. You wouldn't understand,
though it's as obvious as that smile of yours:
an open secret. Nothing ever grows,
once the heart is harvested... You ask
too many questions. No more talking now,
my prying ignoramus, no more words,
however sweet your voice. You call it Life,
but Death is what binds us, and by subtler bonds...
Come here. The only lie that comforts me
is the refuge of those lashes - let me sink
into the silent fiction of your eyes!
-Charles Baudelaire
translation - Richard Howard