harmonie du soir;



evening harmony (harmonie du soir).


now is the time when, throbbing on its stem, each flower sheds its perfume like incense. sounds and scents spiral in the evening air in a melancholy waltz, a slow sensual turning.

each flower sheds its perfume like incense: the violin trembles like a wounded heart, in a melancholy waltz, a slow, sensual turning. the sky is sad and beautiful, like a vast altar.

the violin trembles like a wounded heart, a tender heart that hates the huge black void. the sky is sad and beautiful like a vast altar. the sun has drowned in its congealing blood.

a tender heart that hates the huge, black void, is gathering from the luminous past, what dreams remain. the sun has drowned in its congealing blood, and like a glowing marvel, your memory shines in me.


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{ text, baudelaire. }

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