Lately
when miles turn
into missiles,
when wrong directions
become correct mistakes.
We slip on reflections,
becoming broken glass
in mirrored hearts.
A kiss of rapid splendor,
dropping repeated words
from weathered,
parched lips.
We thirst for not giving enough
to raise a smile from oceans.
We pour salt against
cracked skin, quaking sin
in that desirous mood.
Grieving in this craving
to keep falling overboard,
to send anchors to cease
a sunrise of heartbeats.
We want darkness to hurt us,
while hoping rain deserts us.
Dried, inside of veins,
holding this rope, these reins
with skeletal hands.
Modern Romanticism 
Love the deep if not slightly neurotic angle to this. Beautiful
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Haven’t heard that word, “neurotic”, directed at my work ever before. Haha.
Thanks, tho. I guess it is, since I was trying to depict this poem’s subject matter as having two people whose relationship’s stability is also their instability. As if everything they do for one another turns out superficial and forced. Like they don’t know what the other really want, so all that’s given is a comforting lie.
Happens in this world all too frequently. Many people never pay enough attention.
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