She is not coming home...
I won’t believe she is not coming home…
Waking up every morning beside me will be my bliss…
Now and then your voice speaks softly into my ears… ...
I dreamed I saw three demi-gods who in a cafe sat,
And one was small and crapulous, and one was large and fat;
And one was eaten up with vice and verminous at that.
The first he spoke of secret sins, and gems and perfumes rare;
And velvet cats and courtesans voluptuously fair:
“Who is the Sybarite?” I asked. They answered: “Baudelaire.”