Baudelaire and Lord Alfred:
“from out our bourne of Time and Place”
If Baudelaire were right, the body buys
Its way straight through to immortality
By strict improvement. Ladies’ made-up eyes
Rise artfully from mere banality
To something like subliminal ideals.
Mascara, eyebrow pencils, eyelid shades
Bring on eternity. They are the seals
Of prophets from the everlasting blades
Of lawns of Wordsworth’s intimations of
Undying beauty. Silks and satins worn
At soirees are the very skin of love
Conceived by Tennyson, his farthest bourne.
Yet Alfred loved a man, so muscles bulged
In gyms are in eternities indulged.
~ Phillip Whidden