Quotes About Intimacy

What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood? Que diran de mi poesia los que no tocaron mi sangre?

De noche, amada, amarra tu corazón al mío y que ellos en el sueño derroten las tinieblas

Who ever desired each other as we do? Let us look for the ancient ashes of hearts that burned, and let our kisses touch there, one by one, till the flower, disembodied, rises again. Let us love that Desire that consumed its own fruit and went down, aspect and power, into the earth: We are its continuing light, its indestructible, fragile seed.

Under your skin the moon is alive.

I love you without knowing how, nor when, nor from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you this way because I know no other way to love

I crave a love so deep, the ocean would be jealous

I remember only a day that was perhaps never intended for me, it was an incessant day, without origins, Thursday. I was a man transported by chance with a woman vaguely found, we undressed as if to die or swim or grow old and we thrust ourselves one inside the other, she surrounding me like a hole, I cracking her like a bell, for she was the sound that wounded me and the hard dome determined to tremble.

To feel the intimacy of brothers is a marvelous thing in life. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses---that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being and unites all living things.

And tell me everything, tell chain by chain, and link by link, and step by step; sharpen the knives you kept hidden away, thrust them into my breast, into my hands, like a torrent of sunbursts, an Amazon of buried jaguars, and leave me cry: hours, days and years, blind ages, stellar centuries.

The Potter Your whole body is A glass of wine Or sweetness destined for me. When I raise my hand, I find in every place a dove Seeking for me, As if, my love, You were made of clay For my very hands of a potter. Your knees, your breasts, Your waist, Disappear in me like in a hollow Of a thirsting earth Where they lose A form, And together We become like a single river, Like a single grain of sand.

Te amo sin saber como, ni cuándo, ni de dónde, te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo: asi te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera

I crown you, small monarch of my bones

tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía, tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

En un beso, sabrás todo lo que he callado.

He dormido contigo y al despertar tu boca salida de tu sueño me dio el sabor de tierra, de agua

Bring your substance deep down to me, heavily, covering my eyes, let your existence cut across me, supposing that my heart is destroyed.

So close that your hand upon my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my sleep.

With a kiss you'll know all I've kept quiet.

But my words become stained with your love. You occupy everything, you occupy everything.

I could not walk except with you, ...I could not sing except when you sing.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

My kisses fell, happy as embers.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close." ? Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

Between the lips and the voice something goes dying.