The prince of the flowers of malevil
Sees the black creature
In the dark night, hard
Hallucinatory skin
The top note so pure
Heart, depth, body, under her shawl

She is woman, moving
In the author’s mind
The night of her mysteries
Does not follow the hour
Of day taking the earth
His perfume however perspires

Of the poet’s mind,
This is not a study
Letters can tell the difference
Between a worried passerby
And a non-existent love
For Baudelaire, skinny.

His ***** mistress
Of his desires and angers
His body makes him suffer
The poet writhes
Under the pressure and the spell
Of his harmful fragrance

Written on December 13, 2016
Lyon Metro
Translated on April 19, 2017