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, you open always, petal by petal, myself, as Spring opens Touching skillfully, mysteriously her first rose. Or, if your wish be to close me, I and my life will shut, very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending. Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility, whose texture compells me with the color of its countries rendering death and forever with each breathing. I do not know what it 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. luv ya hubby lmao
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