Modern Romanticism

Lean back,
let me see
those thoughts
you are unseeing.
Let me feel
your wound up,
disheartened heart,
while I undress
your wounds.

Let me adore
all that you've come
to shout at,
to abhor.

Let me caress
the tears that find
their meandering way
through tresses,
along bottomless,
vibrant flesh.

I want to keep
caring for everything
you keep abandoning.

Love isn't a gift,
as it is a blessing.

I'll grant it,
regardless of
the dust
that comes next.