sonnet xvii .

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  d a r k  things
are to be loved,
in  s e c r e t , between the shadow and the soul.

I love you
as the plant that never  b l o o m s
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth,
lives  d a r k l y  in my body.

I love you
without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you
 s t r a i g h t f o r w a r d l y ,
without complexities or pride;

so I love you
because I know no other way than this:
where I does not  e x i s t , nor you,
so  c l o s e  
that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so  c l o s e
that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


- Pablo Neruda



(photo courtesy to havens)