Forget the pages we tore,
Left upon the thinnest, dark
Trail that escaped our bright foresight.
To wake upon the midnight hour
Holding our love upright.
You stand with idleness to veins,
Caressing eyes, bloating in the pain.
As I kiss each tear backwards –
Life flows on the curves to a form,
Naked in rose, reminiscent for thorns.
Call your treasures to be beautiful,
Unveil breasts to be held.
To kiss your hands for fever felt
For the wake of something angelical.
Design the space, beneath –
Where Heaven will welcome you
Apart from Death’s entertainment.
Keep your symptoms tragic –
For the betterment of beauty
Away from burning scenery.
As all stars could be countless,
When would tears be fruitless?
An ending to your tearstained majesty
Will begin in Heaven’s matrimony.
To the growth of no more
That love could not have known.
Upon the repeat of your cries,
No new ocean remains adored.
To kiss the tears backwards on a journey
Towards the pages apart from agony.
Modern Romanticism 