Tuesday, February 9, 2010

warning: vague

well, this is unexpected.

so, have a poem, by e e cummings.
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds

-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

1 comment:

Amanda said...

Love it. e.e. cummings is really good.