LXIII PENUMBRA
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
UNDER the cover of transparent wool, we slipped, she and I. Even our heads were covered, and the lamp shone through the cloth above us.
Thus I saw her dear body in a mysterious light. We were very near, one to the other, more free, more intimate, more naked. “In the same shift,” she said.
We had left our hair bound up in order to be still more uncovered, and in the close air of the bed, the odors of two women ascended, of two natural cassolets.
Nothing in the world, not even the lamp, saw us that night. Which of us was loved, she alone, and I, could say. But the men know nothing of it.