Modern Romanticism

To bliss,
to return that kiss,
a heart has dropped
a coin, a diamond
to be heaviest
on its way down.

Light died,
while I muse
over those strands
of lingering hair,
that built more
the softness
to that pillow.

To desire it,
once more, in this
darkest of spots
where I miss
that final touch
of disconnection.

You were earthly
in all your stares,
building me,
always writing me
until the ink
became the tears,
until the tears
became the years.

I have found no home,
walking far from a nest,
where an act of coming back
is to see it burning.

Who first lit the fuse?
Does it matter?
I am here,
listening to crackles
in the wind.

I am hearing
a spread of wildfire,
one I'm blinded to,
one I continue to
keep alive in the cold.