To shadows,
I have always looked.
To your grave,
I have watched
with symptoms turning grey
under clouds that rush down
leaves, discolored further
into clarity’s rain.
To notice a shape,
broken among this same
fate that we shared,
with scars to compare,
from touches that
we ever dared.
With memories hung like
leaves refusing to
let go. With our feelings
staying like winter that
remains white for another night
to see our bodies blanketed.
Buried, both to be hurried
on, with breaths that
freeze, at death
giving kisses to shoulders
where we pledged to weep,
forever, comforted here
at one vast ocean’s
mournful sigh.
Words dance off hands
holding onto vows
we brushed against an undertow
that kept streaming from
days we were promising
to never give, before
our light became ignored.
Modern Romanticism 