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