what is it about you which (very skilfully,
beautifully) compels me,opens and closes eyes.
i never touch if we are too near;
your eyes enclose silence
somewhere beyond gesture.
they are always descending:
rendering nothing of me
not even the rain.
your breathing is deeper than all
such hands easily unclose the texture of its countries:
frail snow to small roses whose color has travelled
everywhere the heart imagines.
you have your first look
of intense fragility
that i experience in your fingers
i have closed myself.
with each slightest touching
my life gladly opens
as most things which suddenly close.
mysteriously nobody understands
your power ;something in the voice
will shut petal by petal
as this flower equals death
and Spring cannot open forever
in the world i perceive
because i do not know
your wish to me or to myself.
prompt: parody: e.e. cummings' "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond."
notes: The words are from the original, which is not exactly a parody, but I thought it would make an interesting exercise. Cummings is one of my favorite poets, but I find him a little difficult to read.