Modern Romanticism

Only the fewest porcelain cheeks,

Matching themselves

To be two,

Can be for my kisses,

And my wants.

My love held a rope out

For me to catch.

And, I only caught its edge,

I only caught a tiny thread

Of the whole.

Great phoenix

Overhead and beneath,

Like flames that do not let go

Of past and future,

Here are my quivering hands

With each shuddering vein.

Here are my porcelain cheeks

For her to see.

Her love is a well,

And I have struck the bell atop the church

That now calls to us.

Blue skies,

And aflame fields,

Here is where I look down to pull her up

From the well.

And she looks up

To pull me down.