Saturday, August 8, 2009

you are my synesthesia embodied.

I love you

For your little, startled, thoughtless ways,

For your ponderings, like soft dark birds,

And when you speak ‘tis a sudden sunlight.

I love you

For your wide child eyes, and fluttering hands,

For the little divinities your wrists,

And the beautiful mysteries your fingers.

I love you.

Does the blossom study her day of life?

Is the butterfly vexed with an hour of soul?

I had rather a rose than live forever.

ee cummings 

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