See me. See safety.
See these wings that
never will give forth less,
when presenting a caress
upon your longest hurt.
You bend forth,
sifting ash, where memories
were scattered from
discarded photographs.
Are you afraid of storms,
when always welcoming them?
Something thunders
inside your deepest arms.
Teardrops fall, towards lakes
always bare for your
frozen, trembling body.
Will you come back
to see what never died,
as all it did was cry?
If I run to you,
will you move to fly
from cliff to become
a final brokenness?
Modern Romanticism 