Love

Love

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the

perfumes of spring.

I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;

how did your lips feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,

the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten

your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of

you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will

do me irreparable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every

window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because

of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting

stars, falling objects.

-Pablo Neruda