Her face, within
Teardrops and porcelain.
To lose a strand of her hair
Will prevent summer
From arriving at the view of her twin.
Some recollection that sunders
Warmth from her skin, –
As a piece of her, within
Redoes the knots,
Can I arrive without losing my spot?
To sadness, too late
To kiss her remnants, with a teardrop
Too soon to let loose
While stunning eyes keep burning
For missing passion, as keys keep turning.
Lost silhouette, within
The light that burns out in the fade out
Of her stars.
While love masks the sin –
Faces come rushed
To what funerals and kisses can do.
Endings and pleasure can redo –
The twists that crashed our eyes
Upon the narrowest road.
How much emptiness, how many loads
Will reuse the beautiful temptation?
Was it the sensation
That tightened bloodied ropes?
Spill your words
Easier than tears, harder than designation.
To separate the ocean from the salt.
Rush our blood, our love to a singular halt.
Modern Romanticism 