Modern Romanticism

Rain with me
a blessing we both
can retrieve
from its neutral status,
with our devoted hearts,
our stable hands.

We can exhume
what we repressed,
delivering our petals
to open lips.

We can dream
our oceans combined,
bring in the waves
over naked shores.

Light is not
our devouring enemy
as it rests
on our shoulders.

We’ve suffered enough
to not wish to resist
its teeming presence.

Sickness is the flutter
in our abdomens,
the music that reigns in
the dancing flames
from our blood’s warmth.

Blindness is our refusal
to drown under darkness,
to freeze in these miles,
to be eclipsed
from a starlit display.