Make me swear
To a false worship upon your idle sands.
Weeping to fill in the stars
Too few
In the reflections upon a nighttime
Ocean, stilled in motion.
Crying for the west,
While we raised our eyes to the east.
How long was the horizon?
What was the temperature
To our sensation, in the fire?
Bent wings,
With unchangeable expressions.
Outside the span,
To a nullifying numbness.
Reaching the fade
While waters rose with the somber moon.
Make me love,
Pressuring me down
Towards poison, where I will drown
Inside those kisses that set the crown.
Leave me wide,
Burn me close
From feathers that fell with no rain
To reach their descent, faster
Than the sun would set.
Memories with the book,
The torn photograph.
A summer raincoat
To shield the sadness off shoulders
Where a child’s face had laid.
One more word to utter the first time.
Modern Romanticism 