Modern Romanticism

Her eyes
Cry aloud for the ebony skies.
I wish to pull free her sadness,
To turn stains into marks of glee
In where she shall gently flee.

I wrap arms around to pull her close,
That I might soak in her bleeding skin.
What a world
That caves in
To me in the solace beneath the moon.

Here, her eyes race with droplets
To feed the thunder's presence.
Am I allowed to feel what is beneath her heart,
That I might dig through sands
Wide enough to empty her ocean?

Life strewn all around,
Like tatters to her garments.
I have left a former to catch a next
In the feeling thuds around her breast.
I kiss deep, to nurture my keep.

Her body runs with the colors to the sun,
Gleaming and perspiring in the exercise of sickness.
What do I hold,
Besides all that is so cold?