sonnet 17
Saturday, December 10, 2005 |
soneto XVII.
i love pablo neruda. ♥
I do not love you as if you were a rose made of salt or topaz
or an arrow of carnations spreading fire:
I love you the way certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you like the plant that never blooms,
but conceals within itself the light of those flowers;
and, thanks to your love, the darkness of my body
houses the suffocating aroma that arose from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, when, or where from;
I love you straightforwardly, with neither problems nor pride:
I love you thus, not knowing how to love you otherwise
than this way whereby neither `you` nor `I` exist..
so close that your hand on my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes grow heavy when I tire.