Tongue-tied. We were once
bound by truth.
Held down with rings,
within no fairytale.
We roared with those fires
that fell to our eyes. Blinded,
under surges, with urges,
inside summer’s sting.
Starved flesh, made to bring
blackest guilt, upon
immaculate shoulders.
While you are
letting go, pale skin no
longer looks sick,
to you.
Once, blinded,
in light, in dark, being
reminded of something
we both forgot.
When you found clear skies,
at a different hour,
I remained scattered,
among grim clouds.
There, bound by truth,
with circles of gold
binding all, from wrists to
gentle fingers.
Here, I am bound
under a twisted oath.
There, you walk out,
spreading vacant words
from an uncovered mouth.
Tongue-tied.
A droplet, of fear
keeps me staying near
in cold memories that ever
move from summer
into a fever.
Modern Romanticism 