She wrote me a poem, on a piece of torn paper, on a night we were leaving her alone, and she would not be there to make magic, with sound, noise and her colors and her toys. The girl that does not say much but can see the corner of your soul and eyes, eyes, eyes, big love-crumbs.
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a 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 so quite new
E. E. Cummings