charlobo-a-go-go

Sonnet 17

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, 
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. 
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, 
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms 
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; 
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, 
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. 
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; 
so I love you because I know no other way

in which there is no I or you 
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand 
so intimate that when you fall asleep it is my eyes that close

Pablo Neruda