Modern Romanticism

A shattered world,
A spurring dove,
How my only love
Could find it in her heart to bleed.

Her porcelain flesh,
Her chestnut locks,
Her cheeks that fill the moon
In an empire of doom.

I want to have
What makes me glad.
I have turned roundabouts into lullabies,
Where circles are but for the infant's cries.
We sleep
Deeply.

Her skin
Wet, with the hollowness to her flesh.
I am in love with her fingers,
That claw at her trembling form.

I seek her eyes
That do not cry.
I seek her beauty
That remains, to seduce me.