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POSTHUMOUS REMORSE

Baudelaire

When you must sleep, dark woman I crave,
Below a monument made of black marble
And when you'll have no other manor or arbor
Than a rainy cave and a hollow grave;

When the stone, oppressing your timid breast
And your sides once nonchalantly beguiling,
Will keep your heart from beating and requiring
And force your adventurous feet to rest,

The tomb, confidant of my infinite dream

(for the poet the tomb always understands),

During these grand nights when sleep is banished,

Will say:

"What if you've served, imperfect courtesan,

Never to have known what the dead cry for?"

—And the worm will gnaw your skin like remorse.

EVENTS: Poe Funeral Goth Poe Poe Humour Kerouac Bday