Modern Romanticism

Something’s sure to spark
your color, in this frame,
of mind. Can you mind
these shadows that decorate
this room? Can you make room?
Your portrait remains here,
still barren and motionless.

Isolated wick, without flame,
from your heart. Can you start it?
Without me, can you present it,
a love that drew from dying breaths?

You are revealed, but you are
still sealed. Just as someone
who stays, though who betrays
all that you can become.

Once, I kissed all your colors
into bloom, carried all your petals
to a place for adoration’s
finalized sake. But you’ve shed
that gifted space, as if it were
an unwanted grace.

I could embrace that space,
reveal you without contours.
I could remove line
from naked line,
expose your light
to those shadows,
granting you relief.

I could, though would it be
enough for you to believe?
Could it ever be
something you’ll see?