Baudelaire's Hair.

Cascading fleece, to the collar gliding, Ah, tresses, Ah the flippantly charged perfume— Delight! I want to shake the memories hiding In this hair, toss it like a kerchief flying In the air, to fill this night, this dismal room! Two ancient lands, afar & on the wane, Burning Africa: Asia's gloom, In your fragrant woods they live again; As other souls sail on music's strains, Mine, my love, swims on your perfume. There will I go, where men and trees seem Filled with seeds & droop in withering blasts; Strong braids, swing me upward from their steam! Ebony sea, you hold a dazzling dream Of sails, of oars, of ensigns, and of masts: Reverberating harbor, where my soul may rinse Itself in color, waves of perfume and sound; Where vessels glide in gold and misty glints, Spreading their arms to embrace the radiance Of sky, where eternal quivering warmth is found. Into this ocean where another is enclosed I will plunge my love-drunk head, my inner-person, Pitching, yawing with caresses, will know Where to find you, fertile indolence! Oh, Endless cradlings of anointed diversion! Bluish hairs, trapped evenings in this tent, You speak of vast & rolling skies at dusk; I earnestly am drunk upon these bent Coils in your locks, with the blending scent Of cocoa-oil, of tar, & of musk. Always—forever! My hand in your heavy mane Will sow pearls and rubies so you will never be Deaf to my desire. Are you not then The oasis where I dream: the gourd I drain In endless sips from the wine of my memory?