Vanessa (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} x_processed) wrote,@ 2008-04-29 10:11:00 |
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XVII
I do not love you as if you were a 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
than this: where 'I' does not exist, nor 'you',
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
I do not love you as if you were a 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
than this: where 'I' does not exist, nor 'you',
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
