Waking up
to a thin glance,
a deserving touch,
an entrance
to guilt in a puddle.
All I want
become spacious,
turns environmental,
leaves for those stars
to come back
with darkness in its
unkind eyes.
Turn tables
around, to find
that righteousness
will reach nothingness.
Those red lines
taped around
an open wound, holds us
together for less.
One ocean,
a long walk
to be across these
masks to their tears.
One pair of eyes
discovers sunsets
in darkening skies,
as years go on.
Moving on. Frozen
with waters beneath
stagnant footsteps.
Holding on. Folding
arms around a shadow.
Are we breathing?
Modern Romanticism 