Modern Romanticism

Holding a cup,
Wielding my own tears in a basket,
I drunk from
The solid silver
To spill the same color
Upon the radiant soil.
It had rained from somewhere else,
As sprouts grew from someplace else.
I felt the rocking,
The quaking
Beneath my soles,
Wanting my eyes to leak
The same stains
To create
The same growth.

I bled rivers
For her to swim
Towards me.

I drowned in oceans
Too wide
For me to embrace.

I merely saw the skies above,
With the desert within,
Knowing I was lacking
The love I had been breaking
Between arms,
Made for the caress,
Though they've been undressed
To show bare bandages
Of wounds never mended.