Modern Romanticism

Highlighted liquid.
Seeing far, closing near
to where these arms had held
what will eventually slip,

but I amuse myself
in deepest recollection.

I remind myself of this,
undressing my eyes in the moonlight.
I realize, whenever there’s a chance,
to see when I contained you
in this grip, before you slipped,

while we cried,
as hundreds of flakes of snow
melted with our breath –
warm, in the bitter air.

No one had known
just how together we were sown.
Blissful, as adorned gifts,
drinking flavors from our eyes,
looking up to gleaming skies.

I would not have known
that you were losing this way.
I would not have grown
this much, in our velvet touch,
present in belonging here,

before the sending of tears
with a different taste.