My Love E. E. Cummings

  my love
  thy hair is one kingdom
    the king whereof is darkness
  thy forehead is a flight of flowers

  thy head is a quick forest
    filled with sleeping birds
  thy breasts are swarms of white bees
    upon the bough of thy body
  thy body to me is April
  in whose armpits is the approach of spring

  thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
    of kings
  they are the striking of a good minstrel
  between them is always a pleasant song

  my love
  thy head is a casket
    of the cool jewel of thy mind
  the hair of thy head is one warrior
    innocent of defeat
  thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
    with victory and with trumpets

  thy legs are the trees of dreaming
  whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness

  thy lips are satraps in scarlet
    in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
  thy wrists
  are holy
    which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
  thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
    of silver

  in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

    thy eyes are the betrayal
    of bells comprehended through incense