Translated from the Spanish by Christopher Logue
Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it – our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal – Over the sky’s hot rim,
The day’s last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.
Thinking about poetry and how it can be so damned arousing I had to go search this one out. This poem is pure sex to Me, this is one of those definite turn ons whispered in My ear as we stand close. Don’t know why but always a whisper soft and ever so delicate against My ear. With each word formed I can fill his lips tracing the air on My neck.
To hear it as Neruda originally wrote it ? Even more arousing.