May. 19, 2004 - 3:29 p.m.
somewhere I have never travelled...
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
ee cummings
old bitching - random - new bitching
Reads Like: ee cummings, man Sounds Like: In the Aeroplane over the Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel Feels Like: this poem made me cry last night, very seriously.
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Spell it out Rehash to keep her End of the line what to do, what to do.
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