Some hand-written spell
breaks, to see all of me
inside of a hurting shell.
Life writes itself, inside and
out of that dark residence.
Sleeping with your shadow.
Making love to your movements,
while puddling around.
Searching through broken bones,
holding a round, sensing a sound
that grows restless in this
uncovered, unblanketed town.
Pain comes to play
at this year
of flavored tears.
Your cold, warm nest
where I used to sample
scents off your breast.
Reflections become empty
high upon ceilings.
I swear to being able
to hear your soft sighs
from a closed window.
A heart has shut its door
to strangers with their
gifts of consolation.
One moment with its next.
Two fatal eyes upon a hex
where magic always paralyzed.
I loved with each sound
harping on heartstrings,
incessant in never leaving
while oceans keep growing.
Modern Romanticism 