THE BOYS THAT THEY LOVE
The boys who they love kissing each other standing against the gates of the night, and passers passing mark them to finger. But the boys who are in love, there are none, and it is their only shadow that trembles in the night, stimulating the anger of passers. Their anger, their contempt, their laughter, their envy. The boys who are in love there are none, they are a lot further elsewhere the night, much higher up the agenda, in the dazzling splendor of their first love.
(Jacques Prevert)
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