I've probably mentioned Neruda.
You know, once or twice.
Recently I've been losing myself in his poetry again. I am a sucker for love poetry, and his take all the cake and perhaps the entire bakery.
My heart dances when I read this. If a man was serious and told me this, I would quite possibly faint from sheer overload of awesome and happiness. Of course there comes that he better be saying even cooler things to God, but that goes without saying. Regardless, because it's 2:05 and a poem sort of seems like a good idea, this is Neruda's Sonnet XVI as translated by Stephen Tapscott.
I love the handful of earth you are.
Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe.
Your wide eyes are the only light I know
from extinguished constellations;
your skin throbs like the streak
of a meteor through rain.
Your hips were that much of the moon for me;
your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;
your heart, fiery with its long red rays,
was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.
So I pass across your burning form, kissing
you -- compact and planetary, my dove, my globe.