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 skillfully, 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 which 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
To behold your wonder, to be captivated by the richness and the intricacies of your presence, You beguile me. You intoxicate. And yet it is not even in your most brilliant moments , in your most dazzling display of power that you have captured this wasted heart. It is in the quiet moments that we had. It is in the simple acts of loving, and in the tenderness you show. Your gentleness has disarmed me, and the armor fell away with a muffled thud, leaving me like a clam without a shell – where a pinch of salt can be the end of me, but somehow your touch has a way that should but do not destroy me. Your quiet ways melted me – I do not know what will happen if I hear the symphony of your laughter – that, my Love, shall most likely reduce me to a paroxysm of eternal delight.
Comments