Modern Romanticism

I am nowhere near
To being held
In arms so lifeless, so dear,
That they drown with the waves
Of your unsaid words.

Your body has been laid
In a murky bathtub,
Filled with the tears that were never shed,
Filled with the words that were never said,
Filled with the blood that was never bled.

I disorder myself,
Before you.
You are the island that gives chase to the current
Of the washing storm, before yourself.
You have pain that does not leave, in the calm.

Drink yourself
Deep in the bliss,
Deep in my kiss,
Where blue washes with green,
Where my skies can meet your land.

When can we see
Ourselves, ordered in destiny?
I am no more than a man, whose resolve to stand
Is unmet, is unneeded.

I feed myself
Nothing I can consume.
Just the dried scraps
Of tears that would not rain.