for the egyptian revolutionaries, and my lover:

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

by e.e.cummings

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 easily 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  

or if your wish be to close me, i and 
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, 
as when the heart of this flower imagines 
the snow carefully everywhere descending;  

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals 
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture 
compels me with the color of its countries, 
rendering death and forever with each breathing  

(i do not know what it is about you that closes 
and opens;only something in me understands 
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) 
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands