ABSENCE

Scarecly have I left you,

when you go into me, transparent

or shaking,

or restless, wounded by myself

or loaded up with love, as when your eyes

close upon the gift of life

that I ceaselessly give you.

 

Love of mine,

we have found eachother

thirsty and we have

drunk up all the water and the blood,

we found each other

with hunger

and we bit each other

as the fire bites,

leaving in us the wounds.

 

But wait for me,

save for me your sweetness.

I too will give you

a rose.

 

Pablo Neruda

Done