Modern Romanticism

Lace your legs,

For I yearn to kiss each steeple,

Carrying your form to my arms,

Within the strings of captivity.

In your entanglement,

There is breath.

In your eyes,

Comes no death

Of love that exists for the centuries,

For the years

We walk on paths that do not decay.


Do not bury your heart

Beneath your feet.

Do not send you shivering

To the last whisper, you will ever conjure.

On miles of love,

We send our eyes upwards

To God's heels,

To God's soles,

To the forthcoming songs

Of our famous breath,

Of our famous sigh.