The kiss was gentle
Against her breast,
Like under the whirling rush
Of the current,
Of the sigh,
Against her cheek.
She laid there for me,
And in my faint recollection,
I caught that the bed had immaculate white sheets
Laid atop her flesh.
She did not kiss back,
Nor did she fan herself, from the flame upon her skin
From a nearby hearth.
She died, and I heard no cry
To tell me the reason why
She had departed from my side.
I gave God a token of my love,
And told Him to care.
It turns out that He loves her more than me,
To embrace her, while I was unaware.
Modern Romanticism 
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