it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be,i say if this should be-
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
-e.e. cummings
Love is a dangerous angel.
You cannot cage the wind, you must
become it.
Day greets me brightly every night, as
I extricate you from my sight,
like bones from the skin,
you were so far in-
I will not be tender,
I will rip you out,
scatter my bones,
leave them to the dogs.
My heart beats pure pain,
I drop the love from my eyes.
The frigid wind extinguishes all glowing.
I will match you each
of my foolish hopes for each
of your careless lies.
I will rip you out.
I will not have mercy.
And I will not make the same mistake twice.
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;
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