Modern Romanticism

I contemplate
All the heavy weights
Of a hundred years in the undertaking
Of a life without knowing
What it means to take a breath
Beside the great movement to another's chest.
She has lost her sight,
Though has granted me, my own.

I am shielded by my own mourning.
A storm of tears falls through the glass shards
Between my fingers.

She loves without a breath,
For she truly belongs with death.
She lays, with fingers stabbed into mountains.

She calls
From a mouth that does not sigh,
Me to the ruby lips.
I aim to kiss
For nothing felt
Of warmth, to the cooled lips
Of a thousand glaciers.

I mourn
For what has been born.
A love for a centuries
Given to me,
Passed from me
Like blood-red sand
Through an hourglass.

I dream for what must gleam,
Being my heart, being what cannot start
In the beat of a thousand more
Without her love to reach for.