secret, torment, doubt
and interrogation—
If it were not a wait without an end,
an empty spot within the breast
where the heart knocks
like a clenched fist
on a locked door—
If our love were not
a painful dream
in which you live without me,
inside me, a life
that fills me with dread—
Were it not a cry in the dark
an illuminated shout
in the dead of the night—
If our love were not
like an extended tightrope
followed without a net
across the depths—
If your words were
only words to name
things yours, only, and mine—
If they did not revive,
did not evoke tragic
distances and transposed
forgotten hatreds—
If your look were
always one that in one instant
—but an eternal instant!—
promised complete surrender—
If your kisses were not
only for my trembling
and submissive lips—
If your lingering saliva
did not distill its infinite
fragrance in my mouth—
If together our lips
naked as bodies and our joined bodies
like nude lips
did not create one body
and one breath—
our love would not be love,
would not be our love!
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