Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well.
Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.
Pablo Neruda
2 comments:
I love, love, love his poetry. Besides the work of E. E. Cummings, Neruda's is the only poetry I've ever sought out and purchased for myself.
I have the book of things that he collected in his life, a big picture book with poetry. Have you seen this? It was a gift to myself one birthday. Anyway, it's one of the things that I'd save in a fire. He collected odd beautiful and fun things. Once a large shoe from a shoestore that his wife said he asked for many many times before receiving. I would like to visit his homes one day.
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