and perfectly so forth; I see,
kissing you—only kissing
you (it is still spring
and summer may be beautiful) shall we
say years? O let us say it, girl
to boy smiling while the moments kill
us gently and infinitely.
And believe (do not believe) there’ll
be a time when even these leaves will
crawl expensively away. My lady.
by E.E. Cummings.