I've seen them at the movies,
in front of the theaters,
in the streetcars and in the parks,
fingers and eyes right.
In the dark halls girls offer
their breasts to hands
and open their mouths for the wet caress
and spread their thighs for unseen satyrs.
I've seen them make love to themselves in expectation, imagining
the pleasure their clothes are covering, the falseness
of the sweet talk they want to hear,
strangers to each other.
It's the flower that opens
through the longest day,
the heart that hopes,
trembling like a blind man in a prophecy.

That girl I saw today was fourteen,
beside her, her parents watched her laughter
as though she had stolen it.
Often I have watched them,
the lovers,
on the sidewalks, on the grass, under a tree,
meeting in the flesh,
sealing with their lips.
And I have seen the black sky
in which there are no birds,
and structures of steel
and poor houses, patios,
forgotten places.
And they're trembling constantly,
they put themselves in their hands,
and love smiles, moves them, instructs them
like an old disillusioned grandfather.