Wash me,
Cloak me
In wounds so unforgivable,
While disaster repeats itself
In the mileage,
In the morning
Where beauty clings to curtains,
Drowns in the flood of sunlight
Over the weeping moonlight.
Walk with me,
Want with me
To the frozen gestures
We’ve left behind,
Dining on the death of the other
In hearts, to be torches
Broken into sparks.
Winter feeds,
While summer leaves
The shores to shudder themselves
In the transparent dark,
With sickness in the light of the moon,
To loss, in the state
Of an unborn sun.
As winter steals the landscape
For familiarity’s creative edge,
We wish
For the eclipse
To be shared.
Modern Romanticism 