somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond <br />any experience,your eyes have their silence: <br />in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, <br />or which i cannot touch because they are too near <br /> <br />your slightest look will easily unclose me <br />though i have closed myself as fingers, <br />you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens <br />(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose <br /> <br />or if your wish be to close me, i and <br />my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, <br />as when the heart of this flower imagines <br />the snow carefully everywhere descending; <br />nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals <br />the power of your intense fragility:whose texture <br />compels me with the color of its countries, <br />rendering death and forever with each breathing <br /> <br />(i do not know what it is about you that closes <br />and opens;only something in me understands <br />the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) <br />nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands<br /><br />E. E. Cummings<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/somewhere-i-have-never-travelled-gladly-beyond/
