Modern Romanticism

Among all clashes
Of the iron lashes,
There leaves you, the wooded woman
Of many boughs to many arms,
Many leaves,
Many groans
Left upon your lips,
Much to start, of the wide hips.

You are the growth, though without a smile,
You share oceans with the world's denial,
You leave colors upon the setting sun,
You carve your horizon from another's liaison,
The communication of driving spirits.

I enter through the fog, about you,
To melt through the dust, from your breath.
I share loving with the burning
For a thousand cold embers
That are no longer the leaves, no longer the stems.

I want my fill,
As I want my kill
To this heart that won't stop beating for fear,
As your growth has been my inspiration,
As your eyes have been for my motivation.

Leave everything apart
From us,
Growth for my growth,
Flesh for my flesh.