名人诗歌|The Wine-Drinkers

The wine-drinkers sit on the porte cochre in the sun.

Their lack of success in love has made them torpid^1.

They move their fans with a motion that stirs no feather，

the glare of the sun has darkened their complexions^2.

Let us commend them on their conversations.

One says oh and the other says indeed.

The afternoon must be prolonged forever，

because the night will be impossible for them.

They know that the bright and very delicate needles

inserted beneath the surfaces of their skins

will work after darkat present are drugged， are dormant^3.

Nobody dares to make any sudden disturbance^4.

One says no， the other one murmurs^{5 why？}

The cousins pause： tumescent.

What do they dream of？ Murder？

They dream of lust^{6 and they long for violent action but none occurs.}

Their quarrels perpetually die from a lack of momentum⁷

The light is empty： the sun forestalls^{8 reflection.}