This one's contributed by the el jugador. It's a good piece, tis Sonnet 17 of Pablo Neruda's.
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i do not love you as if you were the 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 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.
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Dedicated to my one.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
romantico
conjured by stip at 8:22 AM
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2 comments:
*(kilig)*
hehe... now that you have a poem for your "one", where's the poem for your "two"? bwehehehehehehe... =P
'lul. :D
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