BAUDELAIRE'S YOUNG SHADOW

Maybe the unanimous light
on this sunny Thursday's dawn
runs as the river by him revealing
the Seine's snakeskin's reflection
at daybreak hours feeling tired
as a somnambulist wades in
by the shade off shore
his red eyes glance open
slightly weary in oblivion
with an uneven balance
wanting to be more animated
despite his early morning nausea
sketching a slender drawing
of a Delacroix under a passing sun
and admiring the tiny Renoir print
in his last lady's salon
walking in from her boudoir
he suddenly remembers
that returning hesitancy of feeling
when receiving communion
at last Sunday's kneeling
in his short white pants
yet retaining a confessing belief
of the Three in One,
when he followed a sparrow guide
outside the church
from the high cathedral window
he is still overwhelmed with grief
in his messy narrow adolescence
when days are not assured
trying to hold onto a belief
Baudelaire's young shadow
covers the ceiling floor
and cathedral stained window
as he surly confesses to the priest
in that dark room
of his adamant clenched soul
from his mistress' scent of sorrow
in a perfumed hint of nausea
still leaving an accented memory
at the smallest slight at school
fearfully spent tearfully wailing
already in beds of tomorrow's pain
as only a worldly poet knows
at he stares at his dreary dress
dreaming of his prisoner's fetters
as the river wind stirs
his itinerant notes on his pad
he will rewrite a quatrain
of quoted lines on "fraternity"
over a park bench
feeling like a sorry cad
writing a letter in  his diary
resenting his sore sexuality
as he sentimentally swears
 "Merde", pouring the word
out loud in angry bitter French
as he plans his itinerary
to the Morbihan shore
on an April rainy day's leave
and confesses a respected oath
to visit the Lioness of Brittany
acting out his perfected poet's part
actually believing he will never
ever be foolishly tempted
to whore again and in retrospect
pretends to be one of Moliere's
never aging clever fools
upon a long staged corridor
imagines he is whispered about
at a lonely dressing room door
leaving on his vacation plan
as he still wears his thermals
and weeps with an alley cat
half asleep in a ditch
he picks up on the way
to the city terminal
with a cup of red wine
in hand which spills
over his mother's photo
in her woolen winter hat
on the lorry of the train.