Sonnet 17
Pablo Neruda
-1960
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.