(XVII) I do not love you...
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