Love
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 do me irreparable 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;
becauseof you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
shooting stars, falling objects.
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