You who perfume the prairie and secretly moisten your chapped lips before the kiss, look with what posthumous softness the butterfly that landed on your hand shrinks and spreads its wings like lungs from the same flowers that you have plucked today.
Tú que vas perfumando la pradera y antes del beso te humedeces secretamente los labios agrietados, mira con qué póstuma suavidad la mariposa que se posó en tu mano encoge y extiende las alas como pulmones de las mismas flores que hoy has arrancado.
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