I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. 

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. 

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day 

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. 

I hunger for your sleek laugh, 

your hands the color of a savage harvest, 

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, 

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. 

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, 

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, 

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, 

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, 

hunting for you, for your hot heart, 

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda