I love to dine in restaurants of fame.
No matter where I travel they're the same.

The servers introduce themselves by name
and always make me happy that I came.

Although the food is never what they claim
I tell the cook I'm sure he's not to blame.

My churning gut is difficult to tame.
The restroom's out of order, what a shame.

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 as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

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 does 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.

You are my "Anam Cara".
The eternal friend of my soul.
This we share together
is ancient and is whole.

We have no secrets,
each others light we share.
No time or distance can sever
this bond we have declared.

Our friendship is open.
Our trust is complete.
Our souls radiate together
as we accept one another
with no tarnish of deceit.