I.you asked me to come: it was raining a little,
and the spring; a clumsy brightness of air
wonderfully stumbled above the square,
little amorous-tadpole people wiggled
battered by stuttering pearl,
to the jigging fragrance of newness
- - - and then. My crazy fingers liked your dress
. . . . your kiss, your kiss was a distinct brittle
flower, and the flesh crisp set
my love-tooth on edge. So until light
each having each we promised to forget - - -
wherefore is there nothing left to guess:
the cheap intelligent thighs, the electric trite
thighs; the hair stupidly priceless.
II.the bed is not very big
a sufficient pillow shoveling
her small manure-shaped head
one sheet on which distinctly wags
at times the weary twig
of a neckless nudity
(very occasionally budding
a flabby algebraic odour
et tout en face
always wiggles the perfectly dead
finger of thitherhithering gas.
clothed with a luminous fur
a Jesus sags
in frolicsome wooden agony).
III.my sonnet is A light goes on in
the toiletwindow, that's straightacross from
my window, night air bothered with a rustling din
sort of sublimated tom-tom
which quite outdoes the mandolin-
man's tiny racket. The horses sleep upstairs.
And you can see their ears. Ears win-
k, funny stable. In the morning they go out in pairs:
amazingly, one pair is white
(but you know that) they look at each other. Nudge.
(if they love each other, who cares?)
They pull the morning out of the night.
I am living with a mouse who shares
my meals with him, which is fair as i judge.
can dy lu
greens coo I choc
tive s pout
--- ©1923, e. e. cummings