Different in each question.
I let the hours flow,
as I watch your skin,
beginning to glow.
Your kiss. Here, you reminisce –
on the holes we drilled
to flood the floors
from our chests.
A caress on each healing wound.
Undress you, under the stars,
until the bright of noon.
Each time, you fall back,
stay to cling.
Your breast. A pair of
legs, pulled back, –
while you send to the air
a singular scent.
Then, from your stare,
love grows cold,
as the place grows warm
between you, inside of you.
We have climbed
high, to the wick
of a frosted, frozen candle.
We live
in each other’s breath,
counting tears
until death.
Modern Romanticism 