O my beautiful butterfly
you are not so beautiful after all...

Smile in the mirror with all your cries,
all your tender spots, raw...

The Inquisition burned the scientist
to prove their God...

Look how the moth swapped
its withered yellow wings with...

Our countenances—
nothing but impressions...

Hand and guitar,
the corresponding frolics in the mirror...

When music is fine
what difference does it make...

O dear there is music in my ears
I swear...

Life is a case of watercolour,
caterpillars relinquishing being crawlers...

I shall remain a mystery,
like everything else...

Fragrances,
the decalcomania of elegant flowers...

You must want something
really hard to become...