Modern Romanticism

Smoke blankets this scene,
birthed from a flame
as two worlds conjoin
from a lost unison.

From discovering her,
I have come to review
mistakes made,
from a past,
from a history
I have finally
come to outlast.

Her hair curtains
her entire form,
built in the softness
of collected clouds,
on softer sheets.

Her eyes no longer
disguise what she wants,
letting what I'm seeing
become a sole inspiration.

She shimmers, she runs
with weather over
such a marvelous shape.
It commits itself
to a salience, to memory
as I welcome its haunt.

Hands come close,
under a hopeful wish
that I'm not dreaming
nor am I imagining
this fulfillment.