That midnight hour
when mirrors shatter
at your distant loss.
A dreaded cost
let me release liquids
from burning veins,
for starlit stains
embedded into this soul,
engraved into a stone
held above this form
weighed as an anchor
for your return.
I do not move,
while these eyes are
looking at those
summoned stars,
seeking your halo
in memories of sunlight.
I never walk,
crippled on these
tidal waving bedsheets.
I cannot talk
to shadows, covered in
all despair you have
left me in.
All that I see
floats out from shores,
to one vacant sea,
granting me nothing
for me to breathe.
These hands extend
with wounds I cannot mend,
with kisses I cannot erase,
still spotted in places
I left as open spaces.
Gentle sadness,
come up to give me
one more time to be
graced in undying sunlight,
above these waves,
above misunderstood
reflections that weep
upon those images
I cannot keep.
Modern Romanticism 