I crave your mouth: Audio reading

This is another request from my ‘Dommes don’t speak, they rawwwr’ post by Peroxide, who doesn’t even really like poetry, but requested that I read Sonnet XI, by Pablo Neruda, which I have posted previously.

I love quite a few of Neruda’s poems; his passion and beautiful turn of phrase is compelling.

Enjoy.

Sonnet XI, by Pablo Neruda

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.

This recording courtesy of a request by:
Peroxide

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23 Comments

  1. Wow. I got shivers.

    Isn’t it only fair now that You get to pick out poetry for Peroxide to read on his blog? (Is this how internet memes get started…Poetry Wednesday, anyone?)

    1. ‘Shivers’ is a perfectly perfect reaction, thank you!

      “Isn’t it only fair now that You get to pick out poetry for Peroxide to read on his blog?”

      *smile* I shall harass him from now until the end of time for this!

      Ferns

  2. Absolutely wonderful!… Great poem and well done.

    Just another reason why your blog is one of the first places I check each morning before I go to work. I never know what gems I am going to find.

    1. ‘Magnificent’ is a word I have always aspired to have applied to me in any way, shape, or form, so this makes me uber happy!

      Also, poetry is *awesome*!! I’m so glad you enjoyed it.

      And you’re welcome.

      Ferns

  3. Pablo Neruda himself would crave your mouth, your voice and the unmistakable cadence of your undiluted spirit reading this sonnet. I do. Thank you, dear Ferns.

  4. By the ravenous teeth that have smitten
    Through the kisses that blossom and bud,
    By the lips intertwisted and bitten
    Till the foam has a savour of blood,
    By the pulse as it rises and falters,
    By the hands as they slacken and strain,
    I adjure thee, respond from thine altars,
    Our Lady of Pain.

    If only I were a poet.
    This is Swinburne

  5. Ferns, that must be due to a defect in my character. I can hardly believe I’ve neglected to introduce you to the mystic and somber Dolores, Our Lady of Pain.

  6. Entrancing! Neruda is smiling from above.

    Having a vision of you sipping wine and reading this to your boy bound on the bed… *smiles*

  7. 1. I love your voice.

    2. Is it just me who thinks that the colours of her hands and nails are wrong? No woman wants me to compare her hands to a savage harvest. No woman wants me to compare her nails to pale stones. It is rather the other way around.

    Satan

      1. Thank you Ferns,

        Pablo says…
        “…I hunger for your sleek laugh,
        your hands the color of a savage harvest,
        hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails…”

        I changed my mind about those colours. For now I just tell myself that all colours can look odd in the dark twilight close to the end of the day.

        S.

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