Modern Romanticism

A degree of heat,
your body turned to white –
the ash of a fallen world,
blanketed in coldest warmth,

for I still want to
see you, hold you
even when that thunder
keeps me drowned under.

This final flake of snow
ceased our love to grow,
becoming a rush of thorns
deep where we were torn.

To magnitude, with gratitude
to seek your return, into
all our light that remembers
where we were severed.

Lifting you, exploring you
outside of differed angles.
Letting you, reminding you
of what we cannot hide.