No! Love’s glory is not the ease,
Nor of embraces orgy, of kisses feast,
But a long yearning, wait and mystery
Compose its spirit in a world of vain delight.
By abstentions, the ascets reach the ecstasy;
I adore you with the canon of the same plight,
‘Cause love is not a wave stirring the ocean.
I harness the purebred... I’ve set free the rips;
I didn’t write you like the others, to get your lips,
Blatant feelings and feigned emotions;
My sonnet is mind and petrified elation.
Do touch it with your heart and it will kindle...

In my hermetic shell, breathless, and sure,
Leisurely, the anguish turns into a jewel.

Thursday, March 17, 1955