I do not love you as if you were 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 shadow and 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 complexity 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.
