Love Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a 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 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 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.

breakfast

management
market trends
monuments
mercedez benz

opulence
occult gods
opera house
ode to joy

quiet nights
shrinking
starring
shirking
sneaking
away

the nights make themselves little
and quiet
not breathing audibly
eyes active
the rest of the gargantuan body
completely still

on a monday morning
u can catch a busy street asleep
wiping the wine's aftertaste off its lip
in an ancient alleyway
you can watch the day rise
shake itself awake
and thrust itself headlong into toil and sweat
and leave you behind

to ponder the undercooked bacon on your plate
and the quickly cooling chocolate in your cup