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.
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: