Modern Romanticism

Make love to me,

Paradox of no explanation.

I could give you the taste,

The taste of knowledge,

The fruit born from a stem,

Offered where bliss is nude.

Cover me with your tears,

And embed me in darkness.

Let me sing what I can bring

To your mouth, in the nighttime’s uncouth

Display of fragility.

There are now decorations upon my arms,

And weights about my legs.

A woman once sent me a letter

To see her soon,

Beneath the weeping moon.

Love worries with shivering tears

And blanketing fears.

There are doors to every eye,

And meaning to every cry

That sings songs of sadness, that never die.

Life says goodbye to death,

And cannot turn around

To hear another breath.