Romantic
Isn't it romantic
how the chrysalids land on the ice cubes
in our drink to wink
with sunlight and time
for the dawning double blind
Isn't it romantic
how wings unborn
are worn to be torn
from our aesthetic interpretation
Isn't it romantic
that we should be so kind as to blind
as to bind each other
belieing bespeak betraying
Isn't it romantic
that we should drink such potion to spite
foreknowledge of death
innate insecurity feigning
Isn't it romantic
how the oils shift smudge to smear coupling
seething suppling searing
precious delicate contours
How I miss your words
tender as tobacco
upon mine morning, mourning throat
how I miss your voice
stillborn butterflies in the ears of compassion
unsettling clouds dim-lit dawning
drawing painting...
But how the butterflies
defy and fly
how the butterflies
in the face of formal
whims and wanton whys cry
Isn't it romantic that
we could be so superficial, civil
in lovingly lavish clasp 'lusive grasp
Isn't it romantic
that we were so resolute
in absolute
pressing persuasion
and parched for passion
that we might seek such vision of void
head-long and strong that we might belong
The chrysalids are daimon diamonds
The chrysalids are daimon diamonds
Isn't it romantic?
copyright Randy Resh 2006
Skyline Magazine,2006
Gadzooks (online) ,2009
Futureale Magazine,2010
Scythe Literary Journal,2011
Veux Magazine,2012
poem by Randy Resh
Added by Poetry Lover
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