Sharp slope
to lose your tears
whether to the infinite ocean,
or to the finite reflection.
Raise this grave,
watered at the weeping moon.
Taste the future, saved
to eclipsed presence, too soon.
Separations into black.
Wandering off-track
while kisses, once the light
now the fright.
Heaven had sparks.
Love ends in the dark,
while the pursuit of passion
become a collision
flinging pain as water for shallow
puddles, where I
will wallow.
Modern Romanticism 