The poem is by Pablo Neruda. It is Sonnet 17 of Neruda's 100 Love Sonnets
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never bloomsbut
carries in itself the light of hidden
flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth,
lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when,
or from where.
I love you straightforwardly,
without complexities or pride;
so I love you because
I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist,
nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest
is my hand,
so close that your eyes close
as I fall asleep
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