Modern Romanticism

Graft and kneel yourself,
With attachment for your submission,
As I hold down what little is left
For you to overcome
Of your side,
Of all sides
That want a feeling to radiate.
Yours will burn,
Yours will churn,
Yours will twist about
In the heat, in the race
Of two sins colliding
For the ultimate taste.

Love leaks upon our palms,
Love sings old hymns,
Speaks old psalms.
Old wisdoms that our new minds
Could not ever fathom.
Your form is a dancing liquid
Of light in its debris.
I want to kiss, to hold,
Though all that escapes my mouth
Is the words to scold.

Fires run,
Pyres win.
To the fingers that rot
On their ends,
We scream for the geyser
To rise up
To claim what has been too much
For the burden of a closed circus,
For the sin of tragic wildness.
Turnings,
Churnings, run with the somber, gray tides.

I love your eyes,
Hailing Neptune's panic
Upon the hurricane
That roars its place upon the water.