Our buttocks are not theirs.
by Arthur Rimbaud
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 the faces of 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?