My child, my sister, dream,
How sweet all things would seem,
Were we in that kind land to live together, And there love slow and long, There love and die among, Those scenes that image you, That sumptuous weather, Drowned suns that glimmer there, through cloud-dishevelled air, Move me with such a mystery as appears, Within those other skies, Of your treacherous eyes, When I behold them shining through their tears...baudelaire
Sep 17, 2006
Sunday, lovely Sunday
It is always quiet around here on Sunday. It makes for a peaceful day in a twisted world.
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