Up the ladder,
holding the torch,
waving light for a smile
that curves to a crescent,
withers to the dark side
where light becomes
every blue shade.
Symptoms of this.
Flavors of your kiss,
I reminisce, –
while the curtains to the night
turn gray
with the fog I’ve seen
discoloring your hair.
Laid in the green,
while I took a step apart
from the scar, not the spot
you wept before you left.
Up, towards Heaven
where sighs are with the storm,
the wind in the turbulence.
Light is the rays
going dark,
growing further apart,
for the earth to embrace
the longest ride,
its blue-shaded ocean
with its curving tides.
Once I turn
to the color of ash,
I can scream for your love,
in the color of red
upon lust-touched flesh.
Modern Romanticism 