Romantic
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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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Love is the most important universe for the star. For the simplest sake of finding himself least important, least to be recognized as weak, a man will, or should, send himself into a whirlwind to protect the endangered. For love’s sake, beauty is contented to show itself. A star, like the many of them, is…
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What had been lifted,Is now fallenUpon the fields where there used to sprout yellow,And now only sprouts the red of shame.What was once golden in the light of companionshipIs now a feeble mess of disgrace. We had dancedBeneath the whip of survival.Sought to kiss, beyond the waves and the endless morrows.We had sailedUnder choirs that…
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Feverish marks, from where love had struck a solid chordUpon thy evergreen heart,Upon thy smoothened heart,Upon thy fabulous heart,Were as beauteous, as the next whore of a line,Of a waitingTo see,To plea,And then, to fleeAway from my fingers, that brought you to ceaseYourself, from how you breathed. A disaster,Upon alabaster,Upon the skin of velvet smoothness.Upon…
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Love is a famous thing,My bird, my devil.You have sprouted wings for myself to see,Hoping for this face of mine to utter some sound,That will ignite the world around.Our garden of decay,Is where we share these notes of love,Alike our merry Heaven with a house of stone,Falling to our feet, from above. I will hope…
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I picture thee, open and empty,With palms facing your knees,And eyes upon the surest sign,Of life with broken wings. Kisses are gentle when they are spokenAs well as simply given. Kisses are harsh when they bite,And retract with a mouthful of flesh. I am sure to love you,As much as you’ll allow the loveTo flood…
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I turn around to repeat,In careless repetition,All vows and emotions, upon a plate of fate,You deny what was offered,From a dying God,From a man with all the might to his fight,His eyes were upon you,And faced the enormous creation,Of a statue in what he’d not undo,A love from all broken strings,Upon one delicate harp,Upon one…
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“Your eyes, magnificent in shape; your form is a plaza of many stands, each showing ripened fruit for the occasion; and how I would hold a pair of breasts alike pears to be swallowed whole.”
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Before me, you sit with a sorry stare at a rimTo a glass made of the fibers of sand,Love is a breath in the air for our breath,As sweet as the redness in your hairAnd as bitter as the very sight of death,As the very sight of what sticks out in your mind. A face…
Modern Romanticism 