Modern Romanticism

Tears, countless
to be counted with fingers
laced with boundless
sentiment, to your flavor.
For waters to savor, where you linger
in an ocean I cannot remember,
while hope is the thinnest blue strip,
above the grains where we laid.

We are mirrors to the other's eyes,
an open window
carved from the glass of widows
burning from black, back into cries,
to be the ocean's ripples.

While messages at sea cripple, - 

in the fate of a hanging teardrop
at the edge of where smiles stop.
close to you, - 

Forgetful of the rain,
of pain, of the iron curtains
drawn upon the crystal scent
to a sea decked in misery.
Walking close, keeping the plea - 

to dine
upon all particles of your history.
To find what is divine - 

in your lost source,
your desperate desire to reach
past what the world can teach.