Modern Romanticism

Amorous, vaporous,
hearing your history
through your thin,
flightless feathers.

There’s skin to sear,
a voice to hear
when it is yours.

I cannot hold you,
when you will always
vanish into the air.

I am nothing
except to be a highway
for your escape,
for your way
to retrace yourself
back to the start.

For love, for eternity
will leave that gaze,
when traversing a maze,
void of what it should,
everything it could
invite within.

For life, for a second,
you will see illness
in all extreme angles,
destroying the right
to believe during nights
that Heaven commits.