Marriage
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There is only one definition of marriage, through the eyes of a man, and that it summarizes into a single word: bliss. While married in bliss, a man wishes to forget, and not remember the depravity of former days. Furthermore, a man wishes to show, not simply tell, the love to his wife. And what
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I long, and simply long, For scent of longest hair, and eyes of furthest stare, We are but two forms upon this Earth, With steps so shallow in the mud, And faces so tranquil, As though starving buds, with quivering temples, And blasted bodies, By the wind and sand. I am in love, and have
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All beauty has creases,Like the notes embedded in flame.Searing to touch,Alike flesh raised hot from a wilted quilt.Alike the composer who espies arrogance,More from audience,Than from his eyes. A beauty raised,A song praised.A love most wanted beneath sheets of flame,Notes of sighs,Words of moments,And never goodbyes. Love is a kind messenger,With flame for its movement.
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Beyond the time to whichWe’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
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I give thy finger a circle of gold,Before the altar that releases,Our ongoing fulfillment,Of love.Blessed are thee, when you shiver,Under a haze of rising stars,Under a night sky with fevers increasingIn their temperament,And ongoing fervency.How you find yourself locked,In the sky’s open wings,Crying beneath merciful love. I find thy beauty entrancing,Melting away sorrow. This final
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I am something abominable,Am I not?The fool who had wavered himself,From holiest truth.Though, not more will I runFrom thee.From you, from treasured beauty. I run a faucet for you to bathe,And to cleanse all that has pollutedThe corners of your weathered mind. Beloved, come to dine,Upon all of me,There is naught, but the hopeless remnants,Of
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I follow your sight,From where you’ve shielded a pair of eyes.A breathy note,Has now encapsulated you,Has made you small,Has made you wanting. I am but the smallest farewell,To an eternity of blue,A dismal song kept farawayTo the oldness of a yesterday.A beautiful memoryThat is doused in searing pain. How your hair has grown!Young one, how
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“The definition of trust is to never exploit Man’s guilt for his actions, for his doings; because, Man has DONE, over Woman who remarks guilt over what she has NOT DONE.”
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Sweet darling,I am not the Devil I take me for,A paranoid wad of feces,Has become my mind,I face the future with a blank stare,As idleness caresses my hands. Fear is my only betrayal,To this woeful heart.I wish to care, and to accompanyEach tear that descends,From each of your delicate cheeks.Beloved beauty! I am here. As
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Place yourself as a petal atop my heart,Alike a stone on my bruised soul.Dance with the husbandry of a makeshift garden,One that fades in the approaches of light.You have a form made of the same stone,And yet, highlighted by the sun’s warmth,I see baldness to the places I’ve nested a seed,I see eyes that claim
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Cling upon me,For your immediate comfort.You have wept with a shivering form,And eyes that obey all contention.A face that needs no bliss, as mineOr your own, for the coming deprivation. Disease me, your wounds of many fields.Kiss me, O woman of much gathered,Suffer not, when the world comes tumblingUpon our bosoms, so wide and heavy.We
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Fancy yourself dressed,In the fanciest gown,Decked with the rubies of a life once loved,In all your aromatic kisses,And eyes that glow in the haze of a summer’s night.Beauty! Now, dance for me. Find me in the garden,With thy roses plucked,And thy breasts revealed,I find your loneliness a thwarting thing,I find no pleasure,From the previous day.
Modern Romanticism 