Romance has bequeathed us,
With idealist temperament,
Our auras are there to transfix
Themselves, upon the Earth’s emptiness.
I see you, with face so full of forgiveness,
And no more, but the treasure bespoken.
I was the giant,
The man who smashed
The many insects at my feet.
I am but the insect, now,
With a diamond I present, freely,
For it is my own heart,
The one thing that has remained largest.
Beneath the shade of your lashes,
I am merely a man of a certain want,
Would you bless that forgiveness, upon me,
With a single kiss?
I was too moronic,
And felt the need to destroy,
And create storms.
I felt the world was lacking
Of something plentiful.
To you, and for me,
There is all we keep for each other.
The pain seems plenty,
And you seem many.
You seem to be the storm, with needed wind,
That shall blow erosion to smooth
My distorted face.