Love is not about property, diamonds and gifts. It is about sharing your very self with the world around you.

And when you appear all the rivers sound in my body, bells shake the sky, and a hymn fills the world.

The best poet is the man who delivers our daily bread: the local baker.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. I love you still among these cold things. Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels that cross the sea towards no arrival. I see myself forgotten like those old anchors. The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. I love what I do not have. You are so far. My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. But night comes and starts to sing to me.

I love you only because it's you the one I love; I hate you deeply, and hating you Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.