Modern Romanticism

Your cheeks, in the summer rise
Of longer moments, to speak in the maze
Of gardens, with gazes longer than my fingers
That have entrapped your ankles, like rope
For the marvelous, golden flesh.
Sing to me
Wide verses,
Boldest beauty who does not sleep,
For you are the season with the brightest light.

The flaming mornings,
With their coming noon
Drowned in the simplest single second
Cast the vertical shadows
From the sun, in downed, warming rays.

I love you,
As I have loved you
Before you departed to the coming Autumn,
Grim as you were dim
When light cleaned itself into surest darkness.

Why leave
The sun to its glow on its own?
I loved, without vain complexity
To hone you in my arms,
Though you left the world of mine, upon its birth.

I still want
To further the oceans that leak from my eyes,
As sadness is but the sting from my mind
Without hope,
With merely a rope
Not for the tying of your ankles,
Though for my end.