Love
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Find your passagebetween delicate verse,to ride your wayto those arms you reach for,as if the bottle of warmth. Blissful. In your approach,all the world crashesinto empty fragments. In your approach.Then, hold foreverwhile the world fails us,raining itself into abandonment. Without reproach.Then, hold forever.Scar yourself upon the weather,the cloud with an inch-long curve.Your nail buried deep.…
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If love was a ceiling,would you lift itto make it the sky above us?There are glowing lights that neverspot us, being distant for us,allowing us the pleasure of shadows,the concealing of formsin a bedroom of madness. If loneliness was a roof,would you collapse itto make it the land beneath us?There is fertility, everywherewith nothing to…
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Bleeding withthe smiles I crack across,during these moments whenI kiss the windwith all there is to cryfor, under the distant sun,the absence in a moonthat curves in the shape,the directiontowards your range. If I loved,then I will killto love, again.I will end the world’s hearts,to beat mine for yours,I will overshadowthose, that count notmatch us,…
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Common run. Cloudsthat are teemingfor the wet earth,making miles in the sootthat coats our fingers,masks our lips,creates further rainfrom our eyes. Naked in the endearment.Clothed, buried in theuncharted pillaging of lands,taken by nature,withdrawn in the futilityof a thousand drawingsbecoming rust. No one saw ustake the plunge.While everyone watched,we surfaced,thinking the sun had made us,the moon…
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Up from the rose,towards moonlight’s spread,I will find, with eyes openyour hand in the dimming violet,the evening running awaywith Autumnal decay. Down from the noose,in the arms that leave,in bitterness and duress,I cannot contain, you cannotunchain yourself from the demonwho is, upon earth, a human. We have both died, – have cried, in the final…
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Don’t. I scream,don’t release?The petal. Your lipsopen for anothergasp of air.Is it the last one?Should it be? Won’t. You won’tlet me another kiss. You won’t, – as I won’tgo across to save you.I don’t. I should notbreak your fall,for I am stone. I am as you sayI am. You are as we have saidyou are.…
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Different in each question.I let the hours flow,as I watch your skin,beginning to glow.Your kiss. Here, you reminisce – on the holes we drilledto flood the floorsfrom our chests. A caress on each healing wound. Undress you, under the stars,until the bright of noon. Each time, you fall back,stay to cling.Your breast. A pair oflegs,…
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Nothing else is able to hurtin the smile, deprived of the stir, – the stirring of a heart.The blurring of a cloggedpair of eyes. But withinwhere water is left,the reservoir, kept idleas the blue moonfusing in the nighttime gloom.Here, I wait for the handthat always trembled – in the bloomof a love that awaitedits eternal…
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Awakened.Mating call. Waitingfor the ring around a neck,for the neck to be wrung.A strangulation. A kiss, – one love that left in the bliss. From the nest,newborn, in the birthof all the earth’s water. Forests. Deep roots,blind eyes that never believedin the tears we both grieved.What was Iin the songs of misery? Where was Iin…
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Night.Crawling. It is unboxing – the daylight you weather after – in the voicewhere you are sheltered. Rain comes downto cry for you.The sights. The afterthoughtfor what pours after the thought.During the multi-facetsin the intimaterhythm of the ultimate – rhymes, decorated in blue,after the stormcoated us in gray. And light. Vibrance in youwants to let…
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Off a cliff. Caughtadrift, on the slope,burning for the fuelthat poured into this love.Sad state. Running with blacktar, from eyes not looking back. You keep cryingfor the mile, behind us. Summer left us.Winter dresses youin white frost, a canvas.Black, running waterfrom your eyes that seenothingness in bothsides of a blurred coin. Gentlest touch.A finger to…
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Left around. Swung aroundthe table for the cards you left,in the gamble, the gameI remain to play.I pray for you to staydeep within, on the other sideof the playing field. Lost sight. A goal rushed.An avenue collapsed, to the cover-upthat fell short. We fell shortin our deceptions – for how often are we with selection?…
Modern Romanticism 