Till we can
stand, before we
drown on two legs.
I presented you
a distant paradise,
condemned at a struggle
from newfound parasites.
You extinguished, before
fire could lash your tongue.
Messages have sparked.
Words did go out
a door I never saw.
Before passion might have
stung you into silence,
water brought us down,
lowest to drown.
When we can stand,
love will borrow its third
degree, from someplace
we are able to see.
A burn mark, a landmark
we recognize, to believe,
before we ever grieve.
Chain our eyes
before we are lost,
before we are submerged
in those deafening cries.
Tear down those skies
that we might take flight
with hope that ropes
our wrists for an
undying kiss.
Modern Romanticism 