I refuse to think about people
for them, love is a black butterfly
that alights with widespread wings
on the brow of a paralysed gymnast
it stays there days on end
looking him tenderly in the eye
while it jabs its proboscis in the softest tissues
and enjoys itself like a child
it jabs in its proboscis and laughs
it jabs in its proboscis and laughs
under the dazzling sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem