Modern Romanticism

The rose, the flesh
the moment you decide
when you will die,
you’ll retain the same
asymmetry. You’ll be
what I can’t ignore,
to let plates break
before they’re filled.

For I cannot keep
this unwanted disguise
of another life,
one where my reflection
is always bare,
is never there.

I cannot go forward
without bringing you
into this hole,
a state that presents me
as the question
to your answer.

You’d dig your way out
if I wasn’t pulling you in,
hoping to the point
where light fades
for both of us,
for our false unity
to be no better
than a shade of rust.

I’ll kiss you
until you scream,
and I’ll tighten you
to this caging form,
these splitting seams.

I’ll keep you back,
as I’ll show you that
you can’t return there,
until this moment ends.