Tear your heart, apart
from its sleeve. I let you
weep. Even when
it rains, from high above,
we descend into undivided
love. We wake from
a burning conscience,
a stark blindness
to see a sun blinking back,
illuminating our wounds.
Kisses to close. Smears too
close. Life exits out
two doors, decided enough
at which one to open.
We left our shells
at that opposite shoreline,
abandoning our cover,
our shelter to be flooded.
Some limp caresses.
Ashes on wrinkled dresses.
One bed connected with
kisses that we bled
down to surrender we dread.
Surrender. To open wounds,
we remember. We wilt
in cravings. Abandoned savings
that will cover our expense,
if we reunited with sense.
Sinking eyes. Tender smiles.
Pulled clothes down, to
be naked before all weathered
garments are tossed to weather,
with rain becoming snow.
Walk on. Talk on.
Turn on that smoke
from a fire’s remainder
that drowns us upwards
from Hell’s reminder.
Modern Romanticism 