Modern Romanticism

Immaculate, almost angelic,
though your eyes haven't looked
near enough to the truth.

I cannot doubt what I see
when memories are marble,
after a pair of shaking hands
stopping molding eternity.

It was enough to be reminded
of who hasn't a life to ignore,
of who should not be crying
when everything isn't just more.

Your earth is quaking
when you shed a diamond
from your denying eyes
for your unmaking.

I'll keep containing
your true state, your place
to be next to me,
watching a world that burns,
one that we owe nothing to.

I'll keep you appearing
as beautiful, as long as I
love you, until you
refrain from disappearing.

Hold these hands of mine,
let the air massage your aches,
let your exhaustion
be funneled from your lips
through those of mine.