Modern Romanticism

Your darkness
Comes as natural, as the erosion atop your skull.
Your form, wicked and tasteful,
Graceful, in where it steps
Between a noose made of your strands.
The smoothness
Above your brow,
Where a halo is lacking
Holds a temple in your isolation.

I am stilled, by your empire
Of purest loneliness.
Of your darkness,
There is disbelief, in your grief.
I am washed, upon this shore, from that ocean
Where your tears hung loosely from the watchful moon.

Let your strands come down
Into my mouth,
Where my lips have remained burned
By your kiss.

Love leaks puddles,
Dried by blood,
Marveled in a flood
Of something thicker than a swarm of tears,
A swarm of fears.

You hang there
Even, in your growing pangs.
Like two isolated birds, away from nest and egg,
We are mirthful, only of our insanity.
We laugh upon each other's newly-formed graves,
We travel towards the end of the Earth,
Wanting to leap.

Beauty is a beast,
A destroyer and a feast,
A lover grown wild,
A man and a woman
Becoming the child.