sonnet xxv
pablo neruda
before I loved you, love, nothing was my own
i wavered through the streets, among objects
nothing mattered or had a name
the world was made of air, which waited
i knew rooms full of ashes,
tunnels where the moon lived,
rough warehouses that growled ‘get lost’,
questions that insisted in the sand
everything was empty, dead, mute,
fallen abandoned, and decayed
inconceivably alien, it all
belonged to someone else, to no one
till your beauty and your poverty
filled the autumn plentiful with gifts
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