On a Saturday that felt like Sunday

The Harmony of evening ( Les Fleurs du Mal)

( ...A tender hearth that hates non-being, vast and black
Assembles every glowing vestige of the past!
The sun is drowing in its dark, congealing blood...
In me your memory, as in a monstrance, shines!...)

(Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire)

Confession ( Les Fleurs du Mal)

( .., and it is foolishness to trust in hearths,
For hearths will break and beauty dies,
Till Darkness with his hod picks up the parts,
To haul them to Eternal skies! ...)

( Confession, Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire)

IM KALTEN POLAR selected by Jean-François Sanz

(how peculiar the way older skin keeps better perfume scent)