E E Cummings is my favorite poet.

This is why.

=====================

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

=========================

It's indescribably beautiful.

"you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose"

Imagine how great it must feel to find someone who can open you up slowly, delicately, like how the first flower of spring blooms. The image of a rose's stalk opening to reveal its true beauty; that's how she (or he) opened the poet up. The subject slowly extracts the poet's self, and it's magical.

"as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;"

I see the closing part as a means of calming the poet down from the initial passion; his confusion as to how such an unworldly phenomena can ever happen to him. It overwhelms him completely. The subject has immense power over him, has swept him off his feet, and yet she (or he) would never take advantage of this. In fact, she (or he) holds him closer, grasping his fragility; and would try her (or his) best not to hurt him. Cummings chose his words carefully the second line, as if you read it out you have to slow down your pace a little; and you can imagine pure white snow slowly descending on rooftops, covering all the dirt and grim. All one can see is a tranquil white blanket; and it gives a certain calmness inside. This is what the subject does to the poet; covers his flaws and fills him with a sense of serenity.

I love the last verse the most.

"(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands"

Everything that is about the subject, be it her( or his) eyes, mouth, everything; it matters more to the poet than all the beautiful flowers in the world combined. She has touched his soul utterly; and to the poet it is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to him. The subject sees the poet as how he really is; and as it goes " to love is to see the person as God intended them to be".

She sees him.

They see each other.

They are in love.

Don't any of you wish you could write this well?