Piles of
shelter, your limbs,
your creases,
within releases,
while life depletes
in this mirror.
Fell your tears,
walking north. Kiss
this sadness, into blue,
aching in starvation.
Your resignation
to die, before a river,
as you will let
rapids come close,
after flesh opens.
Wait for night
to designate
our time-zones to
be similar, to be
familiar. Where have
all our oceans left?
Pressure me, while you
live to misunderstand me.
Do not ever allow
a single word, to run down
bottomless throats.
Nakedness of us. For weather
paints eyes into rust. Kept
shut, for salt, for stinging
wounds. A face reaches twin
currents, down to your
burial of hands.
A form fades into gray
wash, in colorless display.
A river takes your life
towards a fall,
towards my strife.
Modern Romanticism 