E. E. Cummings

My Love

my love
thy hair is one kingdom
  the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers
 
thy head is a quick forest
  filled with sleeping birds
thy breasts are swarms of white bees
  upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring
 
thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
  of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song
 
my love
thy head is a casket
  of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
  innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
  with victory and with trumpets
 
thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness
 
thy lips are satraps in scarlet
  in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
  which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
  of silver
 
in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes
 
  thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense
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