I have been
holding glass
to see. I have been
embracing shards,
to bleed. Your rushing
eyes, running westward
to find where a body
set, engulfed at a gulf,
where flames are doused
under radiant transparency.
Nude form. Hushed scorn,
when words burn with
rising suns in that kiss.
Rose-red cheeks, blemishes
drowning perfection into
undermining correction.
You reveal sounds from lips,
when it does not hurt.
You hold your flesh,
when you are
embracing death.
A heartbeat’s silence.
One more word to
speak, while limbs go weak
under blinding rainfall.
Tears in those dark smears,
under eyes that have
blended in with those years
we worshipped violence.
A drunken, sad sound
in nighttime wind,
where stories we tell
are those illusions that we
never dreamed to expel,
until mirrored for a second.
Modern Romanticism 