I am not a poet,

nor a connoisseur of poetry,


a few poets,

speak to me,

a few write words,

I would like to write,

there is Mary Oliver,

there is Robert Frost,


above everyone else,

for me,

there is,

e.e. cummings.

Three cummings’s poems,

above all others,

describe, detail,

the thump thumping of a heart in love,

the magical rapture of sensuous loving,


the all encompassing-ness,

that love for a woman,


to me.

I’m no poet,

I’m just a butch,

in love,

on Valentine’s day,

I will let e.e speak for BB,

and hope,

dear readers,

that he speaks to you,


for you,

a little.

His best:

in my humble opinion,

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  by only me is your doing,my darling)       i fear  not fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant  and whatever a sun will always sing is you 
here is the deepest secret nobody knows  (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) 
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart 
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) 

His most sensuous:

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which I will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh…And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new

and one I have recently discovered
since feeling is

e.e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays
any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all
flowers. Don’t cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning
back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no

Beautiful, no?

Cummings is a brilliant sensitive poet,

also a brilliantly creative,


his on purpose,

mine out of lack of skill,



I feel kinship,

in more ways than one


Happy Valentine’s,

to all of you,

my girls.

Later girls,



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