Modern Romanticism

Being there
to scrape the dust
from her bones,
living in her world
that's being burned.

To give into it,
to merge with it,
makes me feel more.

Upon a kiss
planted on her
distant face,
there go her clouds
that were concealing
what's disguised
beyond eyes.

What's disguised?
Why love, when I
can always entertain
these feelings, in my
own space,
own darkness?

Revealing all her
childhood memories,
breaking the weather
if not to break her heart.

I choose to
burn with her,
leaving a trail
where smoke
or a blanket of
cemented fog
can keep us sealed,
if not ever healed.