Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral / Chile)

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair


I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

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.


Translated by Stephen Tapscott

Submitted: Thursday, May 05, 2011
Edited: Thursday, May 05, 2011

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