Inspired by "Sonnet XVII" by Pablo Neruda
I cannot love as though the world was grey,
as if colors did not exist in fact or dream.
I can only love as if born anew each day;
fragments of memory tug swiftly at my heart
when I search the landscape of your eyes,
as wide, as deep, as blue as the sea, as wild as tides
during tempest-tossed days and clear nights so calm,
full of stars so near, our fingers gather clusters;
our lips meet as we are covered in fine, glistening dust.
I cannot love as though love was silent or unnoticeable
as light streams through lace curtains, sways in gentle wind
and not be moved to dance within the circle of your arms,
however distant you might be when this tender music begins -
you are here with me, inside my heart, long before you arrive
and I run to greet you as a child, hands full of gifts for you alone.
I can only love as wildflowers aflame in vibrant fields,
as the weary sun lowers itself into mountains' embrace,
so tall and still; shadows sculpted to immense slopes
and narrow valleys as dusk retreats,
as evening slides beneath a sigh,
each quarter moon beaming approval.
I cannot love without precious fragrance drifting
through each strand of my hair as I whisper your name,
as I await the soft touch of your winding fingers,
a slow seduction of every moment, every movement,
every nuance, draped in quiet song before we sleep.