I love you, I love you, is my song
and here my silliness begins.
I love you, I love you my lung,
I love you, I love you my wild grapevine,
and if love is like wine:
you are my predilection
from your hands to you r feet:
you are the wineglass of hereafter
and my bottle of destiny.
I love you forwards and backwards,
and I don’t have the tone or timbre
to sing you my song,
my endless song.
On my violin that sings out of tune
my violin declares,
I love you, I love you my double bass,
my sweet woman, dark and clear,
my heart, my teeth,
my light and my spoon,
my salt of the dim week,
my clear windowpane moon.
Translation: William O’Daly