Sometimes, to hope for
something small.
A word, a taste from rain,
whether bitter or sweet
to contrast this deafened state
where thunder cannot be heard,
where heartbeats cannot be felt,
when sleeping under
seeping downpours.
I once connected you
to these white sands, countless
when attempted to be
gathered, for security.
To wrap you in arms,
before you slip between
these cracks in me, these fractures
that keep me that broken doll.
One more kiss to find
your crippled shores. I want
all these oceans to touch you.
All these tears, I can
no more swallow. I have choked
on all air I breathe, without
your reach, without your spot
where I can leap.
Modern Romanticism 