Modern Romanticism

Revolve around
three-dimensions.
Admire her
while she sounds,
when she spills
sighs from varnished,
abandoned lips.

Two steps
is all it ever takes
to turn intimidation
into presentation.
Letting arms
be her branches,
crossing about
layer after layer
of milk-white flesh.

Being that light
she never thought of,

preferring to drown
under disowning nights.

I've come to kiss
her center, her corners,
capturing her display
in memories, for the day.

A heart may bleed out,
flames might go out,

though under the guise
of a promise as a disguise.

I've come to return
all she's rinsed away
from a mind that allows
her defiance to vows.