There were traces
Left to the reminder
That your form took away
Its ease, in the play.
You escaped,
Round in cheeks.
Bottoms up, faces low
To the sound of another carnival
You might show clown colors.
Another moon for the dim arrival
To another night without truth.
You tremble to the same rhythm
As the final flickering light
To a cursed day.
Another sun
That exited from the doorstep.
Its eye burned you,
Though faded.
Both of us,
We will be old before the moon
Is ever infinite.
Your lips for the drunken swan,
Another moment skips
As flattened hearts upon wide-awake
Reflections,
Staked in the middle
Of ripples.
Apart from these arms,
Another noon
That departs, quicker than midnight.
Another brief moment in warmth,
When the sun can hold
Your paradise, your truth
Upon shoulders
That do not exist.
Modern Romanticism 