Modern Romanticism

Leave your stars

To my map

That I will follow the path

To your open mouth,

To your parted red lips

Under the purple skies,

The embedded lakes

In your feeble eyes,

Letting me count reasons,

Letting me count seasons,

Fogged by winter,

Rained upon by Autumn,

Loosened by the breezes of Summer,

Stricken by the wheezes of Spring.