O sorrows of love!
How dear and essential you are.
My eyes shut on imaginary tears,
hands forever reaching out to emptiness.
Last night I dreamed of insane landscapes and adventures
as dangerous from the point of view of death as from
that of life, which are also the point of view of love.
When I woke up you were there, sorrows of love, desert muses, demanding muses.
My laughter and my joy crystallize around you.
It's your makeup, your powder, your rouge,
your snakeskin bag, your silk stockings...
and it's also that little fold of skin between the ear and the nape,
where the neck begins, it's your silk slacks, your delicate blouse
and your fur coat, your round belly, it's my laughter and my joys
your feet and all your jewels.
How really well-dressed and good-looking you are.

O sorrows of love, demanding angels, there I go
picturing you as my love, confusing you with her...