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Soneto XVII by Pablo Neruda (Translated)
No, I do not love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz
or an arrow of carnations that spread the fire
I love you the way certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you like the plant that doesn’t bloom,
and carries within itself, hidden, the light of those flowers;
and, thanks to your love, it lives dark in my body
the suffocating aroma that arose from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or where
I love you directly without problems nor pride
I love you thus, because I do not know another way to love
But like this, this way, where it's neither I am or you are
So close that your hand on my chest is mine
So close that your eyes close with my dream
