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 care the poem which i do not write.
E. E. Cummings (2001). “Etcetera: The Unpublished Poems of E. E. Cummings”, p.76, W. W. Norton & Company
