Modern Romanticism

Come to me,
Weeping angel.
I want to wash your tears
In my own birth of sadness.
I want to send the sun
To eclipse the moon in your heart

Your face,
Combined in the lace
Of a million miles, draped
Across, atop the craters, created
By the stones that drop from your eyes.

While we lived
With venom in our veins,
Burning wind to breathe,
Among fanciful tales to sing,
Because we could not see reality.

I will love, so that the future sees the sunrise.
Will you love, to depart from the sunset?

Through the night,
Imagine the sun
Opening your eyes
As you, once more, rise.