e. e. Cummings Poem

The Dirty colours of her kiss have just

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the dirty colours of her kiss have just
throttled
               my seeing blood, her heart’s chatter

riveted a weeping skyscraper

in me

           I bite on the eyes’ brittle crust
(only feeling the belly’s merry thrust
Boost my huge passion like a business

and the Y her legs panting as they press
proffers its omelet of fluffy lust)
at six exactly.
                       the alarm tore

two slits in her cheeks. A brain peered at the dawn.
she got up
                   with a gashing yellow yawn
and tottered to a glass bumping things.
she picked wearily something from the floor

Her hair was mussed, and she coughed while tying strings

light cursed falling in a singular block
my strength becoming wistful in a glib

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