there has never been sunlight for this love,
like a crazed flower it buds in the dark,
is at once a crown of thorns and
a spring garland around the temples
a fire, a wound, the bitterest of fruit,
but a breeze as well, a source of water,
your breath—a bite to the soul,
your chest—a tree trunk in the current
make me walk on the turbid waters,
by the ax that breaks this lock,
the dew that weeps from trees
if I become mute kissing your thighs,
it’s that my heart eagerly
searches your flesh for a new dawn.
~ Francisco X. Alarcón
To my love on the Feast of Valentine.