Modern Romanticism

Loosening the lace about your waist,
Kissing you beneath the sun,
You are the gull without an island,
For that you cannot even roam
Is why your eyes have become the oceans.

I wrap hands
About yourself, in the fires
To your form.
For you forge the night, rawest
In the tooth decay of so much sweetness.

You fall apart in my arms,
While the storms water your eyes.
You love without breath,
Singing songs while my hands
Are pressed into your skin.

Drown
The life down,
Of yours,
Of the woman who turns off
By a mere flick of a needed switch.

Your skin is remembered,
Fragrant
By what oceans you swallow
From eyes that decline the waves
To meet your taste to be saved.