Count raindrops, find that
tears will never stop
missing you. On this curving
path, we stay blessed,
with wreaths atop our head,
with eyes held to
a porcelain moon, our
lone shelter in this night.
Deserting ourselves to feelings,
to scars we unbind, unstitch,
while inside this temple
of worship, we kneel to implore,
to explore those sceneries
we have adored. This shelter,
a pair of ivory arms,
cradling us beyond sounds,
down into tearless sleep.
A moon. Twin’s memories.
Scars do not fade, under this
following shade. We are
among each other’s shadow.
No sun. No daylight to wake us,
thrilled at where we fell,
inside this shelter, where we tell
stories from painless pages.
Modern Romanticism 