Caressed.
Though, not undressed.
When the moon tells you to reveal
Softest colors, to your pale,
Ivory flesh,
Would you send summer away?
Startled eyes
Give off flakes of snow,
As though
To be specks of ashes at your sight.
The inborn meadows,
Wild, as all your thrashing
During the vast nights.
Would you
When the moon calls for it,
Taste raindrops
To state the pain is too great
As an undying comfort?
Could you
When a hand brushes your cheek,
Speak to me?
When a lover surrounds your tired,
Aching form,
Could your soul send echoes?
I love
While always beneath our curtains,
Drowning what you believe
To be a softness,
In the great waters we skipped our hearts
As stones over an ocean of glass,
Reflecting glints of something peaceful,
Something memorable.
Modern Romanticism 