because i love you) last night
clothed in sealace
appered to me
your mind drifting
with chuckling rubbish
of pearl weed coral and stones;
lifted, and(before my
eyes sinking) inward, fled; softly
your face smile breasts gargled
by death: drowned only
again carefully through deepness to rise
these your wrists
thighs feet hands
poising
to again utterly disappear;
rushing gently swiftly creeping
through my dreams last
night, all of your
body with its spirits floated
(clothed only in
The tide's acute weaving murmur
e.e.cummings
Aqui nesta praia onde Não há nenhum vestígio de impureza, Aqui onde há somente Ondas tombando ininterruptamente, Puro espaço e lúcida unidade, Aqui o tempo apaixonadamente Encontra a própria liberdade. Sophia de Mello Breyner
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta E.E.Cummings. Mostrar todas as mensagens
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta E.E.Cummings. Mostrar todas as mensagens
15 outubro 2012
31 março 2011
Somewhere I have Never Travelled, gladly beyond
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 easily 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 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
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 easily 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 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
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