E. E. Cummings

xvii.

Lady, i will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene

(lady i will
touch you with my mind.) Touch
you, that is all,

lightly and you utterly will become
with infinite ease

the poem which i do not write.

-E.E. Cummings 

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             OK!