Beyond the time to which
We’ve found it needed to feel,
I seem bold enough to love you,
In all that has come upon you.
There are tragedies so uncertain,
And fates so entwined,
That I feel a simple need, or simple pleasure,
In kissing you, with all kisses never offered.
What has fate in store us,
In the times we’ve respected our faces,
For the comfort it may throw upon
Our defeated shoulders?
I ask, once more,
In spite of my mind in this torture,
“What has fate in store for us,
Beneath a moon that shows only coldness?”
There are visions of our death,
Great marks of scars that will not heal,
Not by ointment, nor by remedy
Of potion that spills a fluid.
All the cure,
Is one heated kiss,
In the great banquet of true and actual
Safety, in the arms of the other.
You have cheeks so full of red,
And eyes so full of dread,
I am here to mark you with a feebleness,
So that you may drop your guard,
One final time.
I will kiss you until tears come swimming,
Though, in the happiness of a coming morning,
When sweet dew will replace so much bitterness.
Modern Romanticism 