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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.
Den Haag/Cairo.
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Tania Onishchenko by Jurij Treskow for Contributor #5
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