Pull our breaks.
Pull out what breaks,
leaking through a heater,
washing through with fever.
Our sun comes up,
wakes up to our
dawning breath,
on oceans where we
collect.
Lovers dive,
love survives.
A heart, under shelter,
where it survives.
Late bloom,
we ended enough
to cultivate.
We brought enough
around, to fertilize.
Cross those eyes
upon cross-roads.
Anywhere will be our
resting place
to reside.
Passion escapes from
a morning’s sigh,
between flaming boughs.
I will hold you high,
when Heaven smiles back.
Life buries.
Love keeps
moving soldiers
to cover battlefields,
covering once-green earth
in contents from
enamored hearts.
Modern Romanticism 