the lovers of prostitutes
are happy, cheerful and well-fed;
as for me, my arms are broken
through having hugged the clouds.
it is thanks to the incomparable stars,
blazing in the depths of the sky,
that my devoured eyes see only
the memories of suns.
in vain i wished to find
the centre and end of space;
i know not under what fiery eye
i feel my wings breaking;
and burnt up by love of beauty,
i shall not have the sublime honor
of giving my name to the abyss
which will serve as my grave.
-Baudelaire
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