E. E. Cummings

Unto Thee I

unto thee i burn incense the bowl crackles upon the gloom arise purple pencils fluent spires of fragrance the bowl seethes a flutter of stars a turbulence of forms delightful with indefinable flowering, the air is deep with desirable flowers i think thou lovest incense for in the ambiguous faint aspirings the indolent frail ascensions, of thy smile rises the immaculate sorrow of thy low hair flutter the level litanies unto thee i burn incense,over the dim smoke straining my lips are vague with ecstasy my palpitating breasts inhale the slow supple flower of thy beauty,my heart discovers thee unto whom i burn olbanum

Comment Section just now

Feel free to be first to leave comment.

8/2200 - 0