The wait for another entry, it's the lack of accountability, so I am going to mention my blog again on Covered and Bound. I feel a great way to restart this blog is with a poem but this is really about the way I feel about Pablo Neruda and I wanted an excuse to add another one of his poems.
XVII From: 'Cien sonetos de amor' by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were brine-rose, topaz,
or barbed carnations thrown by the fire.
I love you as certain hidden things are loved, secretly, between night and soul.
I love you like the flower-less plant carrying inside itself the light of those flowers,
and, graced by your love, a fierce perfume risen from earth,
is alive, concealed in my flesh.
I love you without knowing how, whence, when.
I love you truly, without doubts, without pride,
I love you so, and know, no other way to love,
none but this mode of neither Your no I,
so close that your hand over my chest is my hand,
so close they are your eyes I shut when I sleep.
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