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Sonnet XVII: Love

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

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

-- Pablo Neruda


Very beautiful.
       Well, first of all, it is roses are red, not "I don't love you, as if you were the salt-rose, topaz" I mean, unless you're talking to a stripper. Then maybe you would be like, "I don't love you as if you were salt-rose, Topaz." Because...hell, Salt-rose could be her arch-nemisis down at the Hurly Gurly club next door, right? And when you're talking to a stripper, you want to be all sweet to her. Or at least have a fat rock of crack. One of those two. :D

(I like it, a lot.)



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