Husband
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It is to him that this pain, in deepest relation to his wife, can be a thing that reminds him of the moment. As love cradles, so does the ocean become carried with a few droplets that disperse from this man’s eyes, adding more to the flood. For nothing else darkens more of a wave,
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The pallid man sat upon the lonely rocks, counting the stars in the sky to attempt to imagine them as the object he held. A tulip, with the fewest petals still intact. One of them, plucked from his backyard and held close to his face, to breathe the scent of it. He imagined his wife
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Her face, encased in ice, Winter has made a fine print, Love has been replaced, With a tear. Beauty has been replaced, With a sculpture of ice, And I still draw it close for a kiss.
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Famous and beaming with red,Lovely until you fall dead,With the stead of undying love.Romance has quaked our realm,While nectar falls from your breasts,Live in me, oh, beauty from the North. Give yourself to me,My final companion.We shall live and die with the union.We shall make poetry from our voices.Our marriage will bloom for many morrows,And
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Save me, graces,The bleeding wound,In me,Has long thought of to be free.Your idleness matchesMy failure. And to the ship,Where there are sailors,They mask themselves in the breezes. Fate awaits me,Her dying body is a shelter,One that throws love overboard.Underneath my feet,There are many serpents.There are many insects I have crushed. There is a face,One so
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I crawl and dwell,Where faces embrace my Hell.Where love is most potent,Is where my misery is frenzied. There are demons in this place,This wasteland of remembrance.This place so small,I wish it would grow tall. I am a husband to misery.It is because of how late the fallen eveningHas begun.Roses sprout along the sides of walkways.Am
Modern Romanticism 