Modern Romanticism

Place yourself as a petal atop my heart,
Alike a stone on my bruised soul.
Dance with the husbandry of a makeshift garden,
One that fades in the approaches of light.
You have a form made of the same stone,
And yet, highlighted by the sun’s warmth,
I see baldness to the places I’ve nested a seed,
I see eyes that claim to be wandering.

I am the man of too many farewells,
And they are those I’ve whispered beneath wood.
Of trees, nectar and vine,
And the fervency from each passionate stare.
Find me where I used to look
Onto the distance, where I draw a ring from a pocket.
I will love and love forever,
To the morrow and to the death.