Modern Romanticism

I pull back
covers, to reveal
one thing to see,
a face that breathes
its whispering words
from beneath,

connecting with your regret
to explore what you cannot believe.

I hold knives against this heart,
hoping that you will ignite
your hopelessness, for the purpose
of gathering your start – your sight
to see what’s being offered
from this shelter of me.

I’ve held those monsters back,
listening to a vacancy –
a torture, that bleeds a black
stain on your footprints,

because I’ve held on, to hold you
in one future for being reborn.

I breathe, as well as I believe
love can form more than ripples
from eyes, for lakes,
those echoing waters.

Although, in your death,
I will draw back my breath
should darkness be all you need,
when nothing grew
from embedded seeds.