~Poem~

 
It is at moments after I have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,

when (being fool to fancy) I have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;

at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always) and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep 
I watch the roses of the day grow deep.

~E.E Cummings (1894-1962)~