Swept
beneath a tide of rugs.
Left leaking
with clouds sailing nowhere.
Each sunset
bleeds for the purple weather,
the blues that stain you,
the silver
that crystallizes you.
I have filtered out
all eyes,
except for mine.
The sheets we tear apart,
the quilts that smother,
the pillows where we lay
our breathless lips.
To love, even in the storms
while you keep leaving
black eyedrops as broken signatures.
I stay
to nullify.
You leave
to rectify
the blossom bloomed
too early
beneath the curtain,
before the window.
Here, we have screamed
in every doorway,
behind every closet.
We kept winter close,
while driving the summer rain
separated from our eyes.
Modern Romanticism 