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?
- As translated by Oliver Bernard: Arthur Rimbaud, Collected Poems (1962)