How I Love

I don't love you as if you were a rose,
a precious stone, or a favorite food.
I love you as one loves something more obscure,
secretly, between life and soul.
I love you as a plant that does not bloom
but carries the light of those flowers
hidden within.
And thanks to your love,
the scent that arose inside
still lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how,
or when, or from where;
I love you directly,
without problems or pride.
I love you like this
because I do not know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not,
nor are you,
So close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
So close that your eyes close with my dreams.

My Trembling Pen

Poetic whispers of a kiss
to set my lips afire -
to send my pen trembling
across this open page.

I would touch you with desire,
with the flames of my confession
as such longing for your mystery
entices me, Imbibe!

As I sprawl across these sheets
lying naked and exposed,
I invite you to explore
the hidden mystery of my soul.

Scar me with the traces
of your poetic pen.
Endow me with the pleasures where -
the trembling thus began.