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Our buttocks are not theirs...
 Our buttocks are not theirs. I have often seen People unbuttoned behind some hedge, And, in those shameless bathings where children are gay, I used to observe the form and performance of our arse. Firmer, in many cases pale, it possesses Striking forms which the screen Of hairs covers; for women, it is only in the charming parting That the long tufted silk flowers. A touching and marvellous ingenuity Such as you see only in angels in holy pictures Imitates the cheek where the smile makes a hollow. Oh! For us to be naked like that, seeking joy and repose, Facing one's companion's glorious part, Both of us free to murmur and sob? |
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As translated by Oliver Bernard: Arthur Rimbaud, Collected Poems (1962)
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