Modern Romanticism

No one so much as relevant

Did see me part ways

With the irises, the coloring

Of a world so vast, so in-depth with meaning

As a woman with a tulip pressed against either cheek,

As someone whose future begins to see itself,

Over again, in the dried lakes.

You were,

Again, in my mind,

The most notable thing.

You spoke of the words that held mightiest in the torments,

You wrote the words upon transparent leaves,

While I sickened.

I grovel between death and the silence,

I spare children their odes to a revered mother,

I do not allow the smallest of things

To bury themselves.

A woman, in my eyes,

As you were,

The one who spoke truth,

The one who said that to repeat lies

Can only ever console death,

Can only ever subdue me.

I burned in your whole arms,

In your sweeping embrace.

I buried my face in your bosom,

To shield my haste

To the grave,

That I might be saved.

To love, once more,

Makes the future roundest.