E. E. Cummings

And This Day It Was Spring

and this day it was Spring….us drew lewdly the murmurous minute clumsy smelloftheworld.    We intricately alive,cleaving the luminous stammer of bodies (eagerly just not each other touch)seeking,some street which easily tickles a brittle fuss of fragile huge humanity…. Numb thoughts,kicking in the rivers of our blood,miss by how terrible inches speech—it made you a little dizzy did the world’s smell (but i was thinking why the girl-and-bird of you move….moves….and also,i’ll admit—) till,at the corner of Nothing and Something,we heard a handorgan in twilight playing like hell

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