Our Love
If our love were not
simultaneously a secret,
a torment,
a doubt,
a questioning;
if it were not a long
interminable waiting,
an emptiness in the chest
where the heart pounds
like a closed fist
on some immovable door;
If our love were not
the sad dream
in which you live without me,
inside me,
a life that fills me with dread;
if it were not insomnia,
a light cry
in the deep night;
If our love were not
like a tightrope
where the two of us walk
without a net,
across the void;
if your words were
only words for
naming things
of yours,
no more,
and of mine;
If they did not come to life again,
if they did not evoke tragic
distance and angers,
displaced and forgotten;
if your glance were
always the one that for a moment
- but what an eternal moment!-
is your deepest surrender;
If your kisses were not
trembling and sub-missing
for any lips but mine;
if the lingering moistness of
your mouth did not blend
its infinite flavour
in my mouth;
if together our lips
naked as bodies
and our bodies together
naked as lips
did not form one body
and one breath,
O ours would not be love,
our love would not be!
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