A part of us. Apart
from all that quenched
our hearts. Two stars
that pounded in dying
light. You surrounded our
wide oceans with dust,
while forging bridges
turned to rust.
Castrated memories,
ended sympathies.
Blueprints for a better future,
holding blue skies, opened,
all burned. After a letter
detailing those tears
drowning you in violet storms
inside clouds, we were torn.
A rose held out,
each petal torn out
like limbs that shake,
hidden behind blood-red
curtains. We grieve, while
we cannot leave
these memories to be nude.
We dress them in crude
bandages of everything hard
in a heart with desert soil.
Modern Romanticism 