[…]
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you
what spring does with the cherry trees.
Everyday you play (Juegas Todo Los Días), Pablo Neruda.
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