Modern Romanticism

While the new moon rises,

May I see what troubles you?

We bleed the same color

As that silver orb, above.

We spill the same tears

As we ever did

Since we were children.

Love has kindness,

Love has blindness.

I will kiss you, with every ounce that I forget

Of our shame.

A shameless moment, a futile moment

That will pass as our tears soak the wet Earth.

We were not meant

For the world’s harboring

Of its love.

We were meant

For what we kept unkempt

Unclean,

Of everything stolen away

And shouldered to the edge.

So far as to lean,

So far as to be free,

From everything we still deny.