I have emptied
all that I am, into
all that you are
as a feverish dream.
Once burning as once-
painless horizons
where our hands touched.
Being locked, while we were
lowering our eyes
as lifeboats, to save
two subtle heartbeats, before
our forms had time
to devote.
Drowned in warm words,
consoling promises
shouted to those protruding
glass shards. Given to what
pierces eyes into
blindness. With words, with
emptiness that grants
memories, at their distance.
Holding a vacant touch,
while tied to a tearstained mirror.
Curtaining our hands
that move us far
from growing lands.
Near to riverbanks,
where from swollen eyes
we find some things in sight,
while diluted
under distant fright.
Yearning to stand
from falling low
in this glimpse of ourselves
coming back, in sight,
within gleaming river-flow.
Hurting to know
what we cannot let go,
while glances are untouched
remembrances that
keep attached sounds of pain
to bleak birds at night,
detach growth from grain
for disconnected light.
Modern Romanticism 