Beneath the stones,
Hearts just are
The same stillness in the rush,
Among where empty voices
Are carted
In the night’s wind.
Funerals for
The deepest kiss,
While eyes are never watered
To raise a garden from the soul.
Eyes are discarded
To look upon
The silver vapor from faint breaths
In the mesmerizing winter.
Finding you,
Beneath the waters.
Living in the same state as you,
Beyond borderlines.
Beyond where eyes will close,
A kiss still comes close.
Winter designs itself
From furs that were luxury
Only while warmth was valid.
Hearts in
The rush, beneath the stones.
Funerals for
Our depth, our kiss.
Our bodies burn
With the sinful presence of the sun.
Our cups were emptied
From tears.
Our hearts had poured
With the sickness we had adored.
A love that collects on shorelines,
As the dust upon our eyes,
Within the waters where cold winters
Keep moving our rush,
Our summer fever
To keep staying.
Keep saying
Our love had been the rivers,
Frozen, yet flowing.
Modern Romanticism 