I don't love you as if you were a salt rose, a topaz or an arrow of carnations that spread fire, I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you like a plant that does not flower and carries within itself, hidden, the light of those flowers, and thanks to your love the dense aroma that rises from the earth lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride, I love you like this because
I don't know how to love otherwise than in this way in which I am not and you are not, so close that your hand on my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my sleep.
