my love is building a building
around you, a frail slippery
house, a strong fragile house
(beginning at the singular beginning
of your smile)a skilful uncouth
prison, a precise clumsy
prison(building thatandthis into Thus,
Around the reckless magic of your mouth)
my love is building a magic, a discrete
tower of magic and(as i guess)
when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall
crumble the mouth-flower fleet
He'll not my tower, laborious, casual
where the surrounded smile hangs breathless
- E.E. Cummings, "My Love is Building a Building"