jueves, 4 de marzo de 2010


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.

e.e.cummings (fragmento)
TStyle en fashionising.com
'nothing really ends' . deus.


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