There will be beds, full of light odours blent,
Divans, great couches, deep, profound as tombs,
And, grown for us, in light magnificent,
Over the flower-stand there will droop strange blooms.
Careful of our last flame declining
As two vast torches our two hearts shall flare
And our two spirits in their double shining
Reflect the double light enchanted there.
One night, a night of mystic blue and rose
A look will pass, supreme, from me to you,
Like a long sob, laden with long adieux.
And later on, an angel will unclose
The door and entering joyously relight
The tarnished mirrors and the flames blown to the night.
from The Flemish Primitives EP,
track released April 7, 2007
Words are from Baudelaire by way of a pair of incestuous Victorian lesbian lovers (translating under the pseudonym of Michael Field). All the sounds are my own.