Filter the sentence,
Wear the page
Wrapped where throats collapse,
As lungs fill with the soot
Of a thousand-and-one blood droplets.
The iron,
The taste of everything
We hid, upon the tongue.
Upon the wind,
Your scent exits from the west
Where your light was burned out,
Where your eyes
Kept lowering.
You were the draft
From the open window,
Without the mouth
To leave a word at my door.
You departed at the nearest sign,
While this eraser stems
Backwards from what was meant
To write your name on the same line
That separated us.
You keep finding windows
Broken, that you will not
Need to open what bleeds your fingers.
Already at the slope,
Where you slide
To meet the open mouth.
Dividing the whispers
From the ever-aching cries.
The softness,
To the symptoms of your demise.
Modern Romanticism 