Modern Romanticism

Drop upon knees,
More frigid than the ground beneath.
You took your love by a bouquet of flowers,
Dressed up as the stems, themselves,
With slenderness to form,
While radiant in cheeks,
With love to every sentence
You will ever speak.

Your eyes,
A cauldron for my searing.
My passion bites the chords
Wrapped around your neck.
Your life
Is a compromise.
Your dreams,
My faults.

Your arms,
A safety.
My hands,
A cruelty.

What design keeps me,
Besides in brutality?
I am in love with a stranger
In a glass house.
He has mirrors all around,
While no reflection is his.

You are the beautiful sort,
Clinging to the frozen Earth,
For you have died,
As I remain alive
To count each tear that has fallen
Over the streams where love was lacking.