Several people have recommended this poet to me, and there were so many beautiful, haunting poems to choose from that it took me ages to settle on this one - such a crystallized expression of la duende, (and of tango of course), of the dark places we carry with us and still manage to love from.
Sonnet XVII - Pablo Neruda
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 blooms
but 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.
More of Pablo Neruda's poems can be found here: