“Naked, you are as simple as one of your hands,
smooth, earthen, minimal, round, transparent,
you have moon lines, apple paths,
naked, you are slender as naked wheat.
Naked you are blue as the night in Cuba,
you have vines and stars in your hair,
naked you are as enormous and yellow
as summer in a church of gold.
Naked you are as small as one of your nails,
curved, subtle, rose until day is born
and you withdraw into the world’s subterrane
as if in a long tunnel of clothes and chores:
your clarity flickers out, dresses, looses its leaves -
and once more returns to being naked hand.”
Pablo Neruda ,
One Hundred Love Sonnets, XXVII
