Shooting stars, falling objects

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming
flowers I 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
make to me an irreperable 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.

-Pablo Neruda


About Sig

Her days flew like the wind; for when she wasn't studying lessons, she was fond of building castles in the air, and dreaming of the time when something she had done would make her famous, so that everybody would hear of her, and want to know her. I don't think she had made up her mind what this wonderful thing was to be.
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