Romance is inescapable today. And eroticism too. We might be dreaming in infrared, or dreaming of a girl under a corset umbrella in a downpour. Reading with a bookwormish beauty might be more our style. Practicing the art of intimacy with our lovers or remembering our first stumble and crushes are both options. But love and its imitators are falling on us today.
A couple years ago I created a series of one sentence freezes of romance. Romance 13 was the last compilation of them, and I think it’s a good time to look back at those visions.
Romance is awkward dancing before the end of the world, falling to the grass and laughing at the fullness of life.
Romance is fallen tears on a bed of leaves, sparks from a campfire and four lives interwoven beneath a starless night sky.
Romance is vanilla on our tongues, summer shade on our bodies and wind licking our limbs.
Romance is ever-walking through starlight with the ones you love, hands held and eyes soft-lit by Vulpecula and Lyra.
Romance is a stolen moment on a couch, with sugary tongues and reaching fingers, drinking flavours of all the world’s real lovers.
Romance is a night on a frozen lake, letting the ice melt beneath us and counting reflected glimmers cast down by moon and stars.
Romance is floating in the cool, white-flickering lake, hands joined and devotion sworn; now a union of lovers illuminated by the moon’s direct care.
Romance is sipping lemon tea alone in an old red armchair while remembering blissful moments forever passed; it’s the untarnished love for lost spirits and hope for eternities with dear souls.
Romance is standing on the shoreline in the gentle force of a warm breeze; it’s skipping paired stones out into the reflected constellations.
Romance is mapping out soft landscapes of dream sands and crumbled heart-walls.
Romance is rain-soaked lovers warming with damp touches and spiced tongues, smudging napkin poetry.
Romance is a hand-joined walk along a stone wall, teetering between the shoreline and the sidewalk and beneath blurring stars.