spiderpig | and we'll all float on all night

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 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 you wish to be close to 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 percieve in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color 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