This poem is about sex, but I didn’t write it

A few weeks ago, my friend and I had a disagreement about e.e. cummings. My friend said that he did not like cummings, and didn’t really “get” him.

I came across this passage last night and instantly thought back to that debate.

Here’s the poem-

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 will unclose me,
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

-e.e. cummings.

I think my friend would understand the nature of this poem. It’s hot, sensual and not subtle at all 🙂

I read this excerpt in an essay from “Sugar in my bowl”, which is an anthology of women writing about sex. Coincidentally, I was listening to the Kate Bush album, “The Red Shoes”, when I read it.

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