Tight ropes,
on the tight rope
around the throat of caress,
kissing velvet into blue,
merging flesh with the constriction
of traditional death
with the kisses blown
to the fleeing wind.
Our eyes rotate
to see the Heavens,
blue with the earth’s oceans,
green, and the burning land
becomes everything like sand.
Hands to our shoulders
pull away.
Kisses to our cheeks
turn apart,
break our skin apart,
as we are clay monsters.
Staying to love,
turning blue into gray,
turning oceans
into remembrance of comfort
and pain.
Staying with you,
losing with you,
falling into you,
never far from you.
Modern Romanticism 