Modern Romanticism

She was laced
In the straw found from fields,
Revealing sculptures
I can surely bleed.
From between ivory towers
Where greed
Runs up to flee
In any amount I can see
Of the source to her craving,
While my ideals are stepped on by heels.

I count the waves,
Numbered in the knowing
Of what the sea realizes,
Of what her eyes entertain
In my barren mind.

I am where the ocean runs
On this short path
Through seamless trails
Curtained by my running tears,
Slowly going in the dead direction.

Her startled gaze
To what I saw
Of her, in the grave,
In the fields where slow time
Kept going
On the winter's frozen embrace
Of clocks upon the wall,
As portraits stare onward
In the mansions that peel back their own paint,
In the sheds where Autumn leaves spill their taint.

I laid a kiss
Upon her hand, in the night,
Gave tears to my fright,
The woman I dream of
Often in my presence, so absent,
For my death is her creation,
The endless salvation.