What happens in those eyes?
Is it fire-storms?
Is it rain?
Is it a wilderness burning
To part the west from the east,
To part the moon from the sun?
You were beautiful,
Even when
Not regretful.
I will love
To come close.
I would like
To burn close
To the match that started
Our smoking connection,
Where particles in the vapor
Collect
For our lungs to breathe
With kisses down our throat.
What happens in those eyes
When love remains, when life cries?
What happens when you die?
Will I correct
Each thing I could not resurrect?
Would I undress
The same wounds we had pressed
To stop the flow?
The blood in the undertow?
You are the safety net,
The sculpture without a cover.
You beat to the sound
Of a heart, without a guard
To keep it silent.
Modern Romanticism 