I give these eyes
to extensions, to third dimensions.
I present this heart,
held out on ropes.
Your neck, bared for a brand.
A touch of red against that pale
canvas of starkness.
To drown these eyes, to hold
this breath inside your breast.
To loosen waves, words, stones
down your throat,
to make farewells, pledges, strength
our becoming method
to hide ourselves, surfaced.
I wear
a great depiction
that when your absence
broke these chimes from
a distant tree,
a rush of air entered lungs
of mine, a pair of hands
reacted, in choking upon
sounds that never leaked,
lips that refused
to speak.
For futures were never starred,
recollections never collected
when you defected
from our armies holding their
burning banners,
fighting hearts.
Modern Romanticism 