Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowersI ache from the perfumes of Spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer
remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues
drowsing in the parks, the white statues that
have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound
to my vague memory of you. I live with pain
that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines
on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to
glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of Summer
pain me; because of you, I again seek out the
signs that precipitate desires:
Shooting stars, falling objects.
Poem: Pablo Neruda (1960)
from 'Passions and Impressions'
Image: GardenPictures.com
