Dear,
Lay your kisses deep
In the puddles of where I’ve laid
Hollow, broken structures
Of my imminent disuse.
Solace and scorn
Merges as sunset and sunrise,
While a few pebbles
Create the eclipse
Upon a surface, most shallow.
For I know
Of a place no one goes.
I know of a room
Where feelings are kept
In rotting books,
Of worshipped words,
A failure’s ascension.
Nothing saves
The broken man of his wreckage
In a soul, parted, forsaken of love.
Lay your garments low
To dress the floor in your scent,
And raise from myself
The love I kept beneath
All my scattered ruin.
Crimson blossoms from open wounds,
Desperate attempts to please
The lowest trials, for the sickest man
Whose sobs could never ease.
Modern Romanticism 