Reflections in smoke.
Hopelessness in hope,
while hearts go idle
in these darker
seconds that we never
find something
to chase after.
A storm of tears.
Turbulence in hearts
where erasers brought
smudges on those letters,
written with ink
in an hour, when
love held all together.
Another degree to burn
when this time comes to turn
our sceneries into mirrors.
Cutting our embracing arms,
piercing an emptiness
we bring another
tragic kiss, anyway.
Our glances caught, in smoke,
with our fingers touching
these faces buried in mirrors,
burning for a sake of turning
everything we carry
to become one more story
to tell from vacant lips,
overshadowed eyes.
Modern Romanticism 