the holy city which is your face

I was in the car, on the way home,
and one second the raindrops were prancing on the windshield
and the next second the staccato stopped
and all that was left was the leftover rain sliding down the glass.

And it was beautiful to realize that for one brief moment, I was in the middle of it all

where the sun and rain are unafraid of each other’s am

e.e. cummings

in the rain-
darkness,    the sunset
being sheathed i sit and
think of you

the holy
city which is your face
your little cheeks the streets
of smiles

your eyes half-
half-angel and your drowsy
lips where float flowers of kiss

there is the sweet shy pirouette
your hair
and then

your dancesong
soul.     rarely-beloved
a single star is
uttered,and i

      of you


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