somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near.
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers
(i do not know what is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.
TStyle en fashionising.com
'nothing really ends' . deus.