Modern Romanticism

You’re steering your line
in a direction most predictable.
I’ve come to guess
where you’ll come to, next,
broken into divisions,
like the mirrors
you press your face against.

I might let you run
adrift, aground, without light.
Or I might give you a lesson
you deserve, without this regression
beyond another doorway
to another man,
you will temporarily serve.

If I can just let you under,
drown you in softest sighs.
If I can tear you asunder
to threaten that darkness
you name to be bliss.

If I can bleed you open,
let you come loose
from your eternal noose,
I will love even without reward,
without repeating any word.

I will remind you
that light won’t escape through
these cracks of our walls,
those memories of our halls.