A Lecher's Lament

It's a wonder that many of those old stovetop hats didn't go up in smoke considering the torrid thoughts that were sparking underneath them. Possibly absinthe was as much a catalyst for this inflamed prose as were the feminine charms extolled below:


"To A Passer-By (Baudelaire)", ink & watercolor, 12" x 18", 2001 ©Justin Green

Amid the deafening traffic of the town,

Tall, slender, in deep mourning, with majesty,

A woman passed, raising with dignity

In her poised hand, the flounces of her gown;

Graceful, noble, with a statue's form.

And I drank, trembling as a madman thrills,

From her eyes, ashen sky where brooded storm.

The softness that fascinates, the pleasure that kills.

A flash...then night!-O lovely fugitive,

I am suddenly reborn from your swift glance;

Shall I never see you 'til eternity?

Somewhere, far off! Too late! Never, perchance!

Neither knows where the other goes or lives;

We might have loved, and you knew this might be!