Andreas Heumann |
I
crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent
and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread
does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I
hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I
hunger for your sleek laugh,
your
hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger
for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I
want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I
want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the
sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I
want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and
I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting
for you, for your hot heart,
like
a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
Pablo Neruda
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