by Emma

unto thee i
by: e.e. cummings
 
unto thee i 
burn incense 
the bowl crackles 
upon the gloom arise purple pencils 

fluent spires of fragrance 
the bowl 
seethes 
a flutter of stars 

a turbulence of forms 
delightful with indefinable flowering, 
the air is 
deep with desirable flowers 

i think 
thou lovest incense 
for in the ambiguous faint aspirings 
the indolent frail ascensions, 

of thy smile rises the immaculate 
sorrow 
of thy low 
hair flutter the level litanies 

unto thee i burn 
incense,over the dim smoke 
straining my lips are vague with 
ecstasy my palpitating breasts inhale the 

slow 
supple 
flower 
of thy beauty,my heart discovers thee 

unto 
whom i 
burn 
olbanum

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