But. . .

I heard them cheering for you,for your voice that brims with youthand your incomparably noble temperamentAnd I had no way to know for surehow many people were infatuated that dayby your slender figure and your beautiful, swanlike neckBut for methese weren’t the only thingsI loved your tears,especially the tear that silently rolled down your facewhen no one was thereIt didn’t represent joyIt merely expressed sighs and sorrowI also loved your woundsI loved those uncertainties the spectators couldn’t perceivein the shadows of your eyesBecause I understandthose who start rumors and slanderous lieshave injured your spiritTheir lies and the filthy waters that spill toward youare like saltsprinkled in your woundsYes, my beloved,when your soul facesanother soul alone,I’m willing to listen to what you confide, to your sobs,I know that I’m the only onewho loves your soul more than your body