Modern Romanticism

Garments unfold
Upon the tracing of your naked outline,
While you hold out your hand
As I hand you a kiss.
My love, breathe your desire to reach the Heavens,
For my longing is just.
As the serpent can coil about our colors
Frozen in shape, within the frame,
We can peer, we can spy
Each other in our elegant pain.

We are, as we must be
The crudest form of delicacy.
I love you, without a heart,
For such has been stolen by art.
You are merely the glimpse
Upon the page,
Unwilling to age
As I capture your stillness, in awe.

Garments
Fold evenly on the odd floor
Where your grace is leveled upon,
For all that I wield, I do adore.
There is a parlor,
As there is the shower
Of emotions from a limitless fire
That leaves us scarred, as we soar higher.

Dance to it,
The beauty that merges itself with the radiance
Of a thousand blinding eclipses.

Speak to it,
The world that moves in silence
For two birds who have forsaken themselves.