Modern Romanticism

How many storms can follow us home,
How many deaths can prove us undone
By the faces so cubicle,
So box-shaped, without a curve for expression's sake?
How many lacking humanities
Can pull us down to hollow and empty graves?
How many discarded breaths
Can flood the fields with uncertainties?
You had your thoughts craving
The smile upon the apocalypse's shoulder,
While I drenched the shoreline
With thorns that did not matter.

I sought to lift up
The reverence, I beheld, to your reign.
When it rains
I will send a signal from my eyes,
From the lighthouse.

Keep your face hovering above the waves.
Say to me, that you shall be
There, for me to see.

You are in loving contrasts
To contours that magnify your radiance.
The outline, so silver as a veil.
Still me, beneath your moldering shelter.

Bequeath for me, roses that are to be left for your grave,
As I send for myself, the tulips that soil can kiss.

Love is the racing heart,
The darkened clouds that receive porcelain light,
A touch of warm skin, where blood flows in freedom.
I want to be
Next to you, for you to see
The hovering halo, atop my skull
When I am buried beneath your light.
A stolen texture,
A stilled dream,
A deadened gleam
Because, what we had, could not be
Beneath the falls, the solace of smiles uncrossing.