Modern Romanticism

Towards the sun,
The open
Where I find you, laying there
In twisting streams
Of your velvet stare.
I can lay a kiss
That even God will not remember,
Will not see,
As my eyes cut clean
To the veins of you.

Breathing
A design to your solace
Of you,
My illusion, my empire
Weeping a remaining road
For my weary legs to walk,
Bleeding paths
Down, for hopes to be numb.
To hold you,
Is to hold the stones close.

I love, so loudly,
With fires to ache my heart.
I hold your heart in my hands,
Folding your eyes
With the cresting waves.

I live, so poorly,
Wilting myself in the bend
Of newborn stems,
Of shame that exits my lips,
Resting with the tide.

Beloved woman,
Beautiful ruin,
I will hold these stones close,
Hoping more water leaves
Than ash.