~e.e. cummingssomewhere 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 easily 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
Read the rest of this lovely poem here.
The Friday Poetry roundup is at HipWriterMama's today. Go leave a link to your poetry post and read all the others.