dimanche 1 mars 2009


my love is building a building

around you, a frail slippery

house, a strong fragile house

(beginning at the singular beginning

of your smile) a skillful uncouth

prison, a precise clumsy

prison (building that and this into Thus

Around the reckless magic of your mouth)

my love is building a magic, a discrete

tower of magic and (as i guess)

when Farmer Death (whom fairies hate) shall

crumble the mouth-flower fleet

He’ll not my tower

laborious, casual

where the surrounded smile



e e cummings

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