The moon rises.
The sun takes the fall
into the deep sea,
the open sore.
I can believe
a sight as you will make me
see the sea, as I breathe
your words.
Your lips
open for sigh with cries
falling as petals from your eyes.
A masked emotion, a clown’s
rehearsed laugh.
If you see,
I will accept the sea
for its open embrace
in the depth of our space.
If you speak,
I will discontinue my sleep,
no longer repeat
these dreams.
If meaning to scream,
I will keep bonded the seams
undone upon the scene
where our kisses ever disconnect
at the tears we kneel to collect.
Do not be mute.
I only wanted
the truth to be said.
Wait, and do not break
while I motion over
a hand, to uncover.
Modern Romanticism 