I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

I've learned to accept that
Sometimes
The best response
To certain questions
Happens to be your silence
It possesses the power
To speak emotions
That words cannot

So accept silence
Listen to what it has to offer
Embrace it
Knowing that it has the ability
To bring cathartic consolation
When you
Or someone else
Crave it
In the most dire times

My poems seem to have been
torn
apart
the edges frayed
the phrases broken
unable to be put
back
together
again