Modern Romanticism

You’ve drawn yourself back,
sheltered in your significance.
Regardless, it gives no quake
inside that space,
outside from our place,
our compelling mistake.

I’ve drawn you in circles,
as nothing’s perfect.
You make up these surroundings,
where you’ve revealed yourself
in what you’ve concealed.

All this time,
you’ve remained brittle
to touch, keeping yourself
away from warm fingers.

Am I that relentless?
I never hoped to use you,
in your blank aspect
where nothing can be filled.

I’ve loved your shadow,
in blindness.
You’ve evaded all light,
in your crude clarity.