Prose
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Alessio had retreated, departing from a beauty made for wandering eyes, and he is now questioning the moment. Beauty left a trail for him to follow, and he followed blindly. He followed, with eyes upon the back-end of her form, because he was unable to see anything for recognition’s sake. He dreamed of her that…
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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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I have forgotten what it meant for her to stay alive. I have forgotten what it meant for her to keep trying. Love was once the ground for her to walk upon, though it has collapsed beneath herself. She bleeds tears to create the roses, with dew to drop off petals into the ground. Pain…
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The outline to her risqué shape, conjures up in Alessio’s mind the image of lust, dangling on the edge of canyon cliffs. As though he were the coyote to find the scrap of flesh, unknowing of the trap to bring him high. He would fall to bleed in her, a love that reaches miles across…
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Petticoat and petticoat, as is the collection for a woman’s wardrobe, during this hearty time of the 1950’s. Paris is a splendor for attentive glances over the shops. What is there for glimpses, other than what leaves treasured scents from neck and cheeks as deep in pallor with white as a silken blouse? Love leaves…
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What I didn’t die for, was what I lived for. Though, who I loved perhaps caught my attention enough to want to lay to rest myself in her arms, and never awaken. There were lies caught in her hair. I had to remove them. There was pain so golden that she held upon, in a…
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He sees what little he can see, of her in the dimness of their shared room. While blankets and quilts adorn the corpse of a fallen woman, her hair blinds her eyes, too. No one has entertained themselves in the maneuver of lifting that disordered veil, from the vision that sees no longer. Life has…
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All that appears to be broken, can somehow be fixed. Although, all that has been broken of a heart, cannot be mended, if impossible. Do not repair what rips the wound open, further. Please, if you may, ascertain the fallen leaves for their cast shadows. Know the pain by the many wounds. Your droplets will…
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She flew about the room with as much grace as could the swan find its course through the beaten river. For her eyes were laced with as much sadness and pity for herself, like a cat that had been extracted of its claws. She could not fight against the pushing tide of pain, coming to…
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Love is the most successful tormentor, for even those who succeed within it, are tormented to belong to it. When a relationship fails, it is humans who have failed, not love. We are attached to love, giving into the torment, because flesh is more vulnerable than a home. Love cannot deceive, though love will also…
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Alessio recalls a woman, a time when guilt was not a thing to be considered, when intimacy struck a chord in both minds, both hearts. He lifted a hand to be placed on her thigh, and then pawed a soft stroke across it. Like a sailor waiting for a wind, alike a gentle sigh, to…
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Love is the element, the emotion, that relieves the oppressed mind from fear. True love, for true oppression, is the relief. For what is meant by “true”, is to never compare such things to the word “illusion”. For Alessio, nothing is realer than the feeling, itself. Something is lost to him, meaning that something is…
Modern Romanticism 