i like my body when it is with your body

...

i like my body when it is with your

body,  It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body.  i like what it does,

i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones,and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss,  i like kissing this and that of you,

i like,slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz

of your electric fur,and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh.....And eyes big love-crumbs,

...

and possibly like the thrill

...

of under me you so quite new

...

~ e.e.cummings

.

i love you much(most beautiful darling)

i love you much(most beautiful darling)


more than anyone on the earth and i
like you better than everything in the sky


-sunlight and singing welcome your coming
although winter may be everywhere
with such a silence and such a darkness
noone can quite begin to guess

(except my life)the true time of year-

and if what calls itself a world should have
the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such
sunlight as will leap higher than high
through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each

nearness)everyone certainly would(my
most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love

~ e.e.cummings

you shall above all things be glad and young

.

you shall above all things be glad and young

For if you're young,whatever life you wear

..

it will become you;and if you are glad

whatever's living will yourself become.

Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:

i can entirely her only love

..

whose any mystery makes every man's

flesh put space on;and his mind take off time

..

that you should ever think, may god forbid

and(in his mercy)your true lover spare:

for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave

called progress,and negation's dead undoom.

..

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing

than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance

..

~ e.e.cummings

.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you


here is the deepest secret nobody knows


(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart


i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)




~ e.e.cummings

.

it is so long since my heart has been with yours

it is so long since my heart has been with yours

shut by our mingling arms through

a darkness where new lights begin and 

increase,

since your mind has walked into

my kiss as a stranger

into the streets and colours of a town-

that i have perhaps forgotten

how,always(from

these hurrying crudities

of blood and flesh)Love

coins His most gradual gesture,

and whittles life to eternity

-after which our separating selves become museums

filled with skilfully stuffed memories

~ e.e.cummings

.

e.e.cummings-charcoal sketch

as is the sea marvelous

as is the sea marvelous
from god's
hands which sent her forth
to sleep upon the world
...
and the earth withers
the moon crumbles
one by one
stars flutter into dust
...
but the sea
does not change
and she goes forth out of hands and
she returns into hands
...
and is with sleep ...
.
love,
the breaking
.
of your
soul
upon
my lips
...


~ e.e.cummings

e.e.cummings- charcoal sketch

pencil sketch by e.e.cummings

silently if,out of not knowable

silently if,out of not knowable

night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess

(only which is this world)more my life does

not leap than with the mystery your smile

sings or if(spiralling as luminous

they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,

less into heaven certainly earth swims

than each my deeper death becomes your kiss

losing through you what seemed myself,i find

selves unimaginably mine;beyond

sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit's born:

yours is the darkness of my soul's return

-you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars

~ e.e.cummings

if i have made,my lady,intricate

if i have made,my lady,intricate

imperfect various things chiefly which wrong 

your eyes(frailer than most deep dreams are frail) 

songs less firm than your body's whitest song 

upon my mind-if i have failed to snare 

the glance too shy-if through my singing slips 

the very skillful strangeness of your smile 

the keen primeval silence of your hair 

-let the world say "his most wise music stole 

nothing from death"- 

you only will create 

(who are so perfectly alive)my shame: 

lady through whose profound and fragile lips 

the sweet small clumsy feet of April came 

into the ragged meadow of my soul. 

~ e.e.cummings

up into the silence the green

up into the silence the green

silence with a white earth in it

you will(kiss me)go

out into the morning the young

morning with a warm world in it

(kiss me)you will go

on into the sunlight the fine

sunlight with a firm day in it

you will go(kiss me

down into your memory and

a memory and memory

i)kiss me,(will go)

~ e.e.cummings 

yes is a pleasant country

...

yes is a pleasant country:

if's wintery

(my lovely)

let's open the year

both is the very weather

(not either)

my treasure,

when violets appear

love is a deeper season

than reason;

my sweet one

(and april's where we're)

.

e.e.cummings

...

not even rain

           

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 enclose 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