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        XVI

To grab someone at the waist,
rest in the borders,
imitate a much less social desire—
life tends to be like this dance,
like el último tango of the night.

Next to the humid orchestra
that plays by memory
and out of happiness,
partners pair up and mirrors watch.

Paris on the screen,
an empty house,
two bodies empty and touching.

The cold of the street. The slowness of the world
and a cigarette for the road.

autógrafo

Luis García Montero
Translation by Alice McAdams


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Book II
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