Modern Romanticism

Stars, that rise
High upon the spirited plain,
Drain my eyes into petals,
Drain my spirit into endeavor,
Drain my body from pleasure.

You grew two stones in either hand
Where one I called my heart,
The other I called this world.

I was skipped,
The other still spun
Upon its own oceans.

I remained absent
In the arms I called my home.

I remain clothed
In the bare winter, that stayed.

Where did I fall
If not against the twilight
Skies, that surround my shaking form?
Of petals that dance towards the moon,
Of a spirit that yearns to be filled,
Of a body that wishes for worthy convulsions.

You washed up, there
Upon the ocean's desertion
Of you, in the desert.

I see you, from above,
As the fallen dove
I still do love.