sensual

I bought Pablo Neruda's book, "100 Love Sonnets"
Cien Sonetos de Amor
Sensuality is the most attractive quality in someone for me and Pablo Neruda expresses it best in his poetry. It's amazing how he can use anything like 'bread' to express his love and desire as in the first sonnet I include. Hope these bring you back to love :)

XIII

The light that rises from your feet to your hair,
the strength enfolding your delicate form,
are not mother-of-pearl, not chilly silver:
you are made of bread, a bread the fire adores.

The grain grew high in its harvest, in you,
in good time the flour swelled;
as the dough rose, doubling your breasts,
my love was the coal waiting ready in the earth.

Oh, bread your forehead, your legs, your mouth,
bread I devour, born with the morning light,
my love, beacon-flag of the bakeries:

fire taught you a lesson of the blood;
you learned your holiness from flour,
from bread your language and aroma.

II

Love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss,
what loneliness-in-motion, toward your company!
Rolling with the rain we follow the tracks alone.
In Taltal there is neither daybreak nor spring.

But you and I, love, we are together
from our clothes down to our roots:
together in the autumn, in water, in hips, until
we can be alone together - only you, only me.

To think of the effort, that the current carried
so many stones, the delta of Boroa water;
to think that you and I, divided by trains and nations,

we had only to love one another:
with all the confusions, the men and the women,
the earth that makes carnations rise, and makes them bloom!


XIV

I don't have time enough to celebrate your hair.
One by one I should detail your hairs and praise them.
Other lovers want to live with particular eyes;
I only want to be your stylist.

In Italy they called you Medusa,
because of the high bristling light of your hair.
I call you curly, my tangler;
my heart knows the doorways of your hair.

When you lose your way through your own hair,
do not forget me, remember that I love you.
Don't let me wander lost - without your hair -

through the dark world, webbed by empty
roads with their shadows, their roving sorrows,
till the sun rises, lighting the high towers of your hair.