Modern Romanticism

She kicks her legs
Free, to the passing wind.
She motions kisses to my direction,
Commanding new gusts to be let loose
From an opened mouth, for hurled sighs.

I have brought myself to this place
To view her eyes, for how they sparkle,
To view her skin, for how it glows,
To replace my old self
With a new self.

I know nothing
Of this woman,
As she knows nothing of me.
Her kisses have been shared with the ongoing sights
From many men's opened gaze.

Her hair parts an even way
Down the center of her scalp.
Her lips are like the blossoms of Spring
Pinkish in hue, wet as though with dew.
Could I call myself to her arms?

In her eyes,
The world has a veil
That cannot be crowned atop its spherical head
The encrusted tiara, that will not wilt.

In my eyes,
The world is but a shape
Away from being a cube.
I want, as any man does, to hold the curves.