Modern Romanticism

Place a ring over

Your pretty finger,

I will do

When the world caves in

To show something for symmetry's sake.

Just a face

That was buried in strands of your hair.

Messengers from the dark

Write this tale upon the lonely harp

That is the decor to our melody.

Brown tresses,

As the Earth's flesh.

Eyes that swim as the widest lakes,

With nostrils as the boldest calderas

Emitting a rush of air, hot like desert winds.

I speak for one woman's moment,

While she was in the darkness.

The deepest of all buried things

Was her, where I buried my heart.

How'd I'd love to place a ring

Upon a pretty finger,

Were it not bone,

Were it not shown

As something other than love, when alone.

I taste the wind,

It tastes of dust.

I smell the air,

It smells of her hair.

I touch my throbbing bosom

To feel the hollowness of something missing

Where nothing can fill it.