I Hunger For Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair
I hunger for your mouth, your voice, your hair.
I prowl these streets without food or language.
Bread cannot nourish me, dawn just disrupts me.
All day long, I hunt the liquid measure of your steps.
My hunger is for the soft, smooth sound of your laughter,
for your hands, the color of a feral harvest.
I hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails.
I want to eat your skin like an uncut almond.
I want to consume the burning ray of your beauty,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to devour the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and so, hungry, I come, sniffing through the twilight,
searching for you and your fiery heart,
crawling like a panther through the barren landscape …
Pablo NerudaTranslated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, © 2013