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