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

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