Modern Romanticism

I have come,
calling your weather
to come down,
from its slumbering dark,
in a mood of depth.

I have come,
with ice in these veins,
water in these eyes,
fire in these lungs.
I am undone,
in hoping you will see
this last particle of sunlight
from the rest of me.

Open your window
to let out your rain.
Extinguish me into a remainder,
for I will scar your earth.

Before you dispose
of our memories
into immaculate bedsheets,
I hope you see the life
I have lived, I will excuse
from its crashing shelter.

I have had nothing
but moments, to relive
for nothing.