E. E. Cummings

My Love Is Building A Building

my love is building a building around you, a frail slippery house, a strong fragile house (beginning at the singular beginning of your smile)a skilful uncouth prison, a precise clumsy prison(building thatandthis into Thus, Around the reckless magic of your mouth) my love is building a magic, a discrete tower of magic and(as i guess) when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall crumble the mouth-flower fleet He'll not my tower, laborious, casual where the surrounded smile hangs breathless

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