Oh, Pablo Neruda, so many of your poems have influenced my process of romanticisation it's difficult to single any one out of such a gorgeous lineup.
If it were possible, I would stalk you.
Lately I've come to some difficulty as a result (albeit indirect) of Sonnet XI. This is what I want.
Please see: Sonnet XI
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.
Damn you, Pablo Neruda. Damn. You.
Can you help me out?
O ye romanticized, suck it.