Modern Romanticism

This final touch
to revisit a moment,
clouded in memory.
I am bringing fragrance
to your burned petals,
between the ivory.

I am bringing what might
raise tears from a fractured,
faultless mind.

Hand of water, going to
a space, littered with ash.
We are here to dance,
while we remember
what we wrote, on our
hearts of silver.

Shimmering within
a spread of looking-glass,
as a flood narrows my
attention to your flesh.

I am kneeling down,
having sunken into
your branching roots.

I am in complete favor
over marble twists,
your breath that fills this
landscape with sweetness.

Into your room,
bleeding in your heart,
having a head-start
before all turns into
morning's surge of clarity.