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somewhere i have never traveled, 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 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 e.e. cummings ~ ________________________________________________ " LV means Love" contrasting winds which carried particles of who we used to be circled and settled. to fold into one ...becoming us... that you are me...and i am you.. two hearts, one sun, one moon, that built a love where twists and bends, would melt into one, where eyes can't see where threads connect; a solid rock, yet soft as feathers where I can come to lay my head and cast away the darkest day, the cruelest night never will we understand the shifts and strains of wayward winds that whirl, and pound on fate's own door the knowing why is not what counts, what matters deeply more... is when I reach my hand to touch this vaporous thing...impossible to define where mortal words can not explain nothing to see, nothing to touch, just the faint breath of us a dream, not myth....that final sleep cannot erase.... so sure this breath of life we share is reason enough, that we are here .............................................................................................................. For Joann's Contest "Copy Cat" My poem inspired by e.e. cummings poem LVII
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