that one person everyone loves and you’re just like
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz or arrow of carnations the fire shoots off:
I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant never blooms but 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 dark 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.