Modern Romanticism

My words cannot go quick enough
To ripple across your velvet flesh
With as much trickling depth,
To denote this sadness.

Your breath,
A cruel spark.
My death,
The notes upon the harp,
While I run with the tide
All the musicians of old
Who sing their merry songs
Aloud, aghast in awe.

My dreams,
Our fairytale,
A non-stop journey
To the apocalypse’s meeting.
I live upon the scarlet
Of your cherry-tinted lips.
Your love
Made into sailing vessels.

I will continue to love
With all the flames in the void,
Where carried a heart
No longer there.
No more pain,
Just a kiss
To last the sweetest, keenest
Moment upon our mouths.

Can it be here
Where we stare
Into our eyes, cold as one,
Though, warm as none?