subvoce

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 the shadow and the soul.

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 do 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.

- P.N.