Modern Romanticism

But, what would I do

Without the kiss?

Without the feel of lips against my own?

What will I become

Among these other moments,

When all I feel against my mouth

Is the burning of blood

From bitter pain?

What else to feel,

Other than the biting winter wind?

Oh, winter,

Are you my new beloved?

I lost her, before you arrived,

And now you fill my heart with a strangeness.