I have been holding
more of your call. More of
what escapes than your
bonding words.
Voiceless. Transparent.
You’ve surrendered.
We have remembered.
We are those
droplets filtered through,
for stormy highways.
Condensed meaning.
Hurt from hail that turns
our skin from marble
into rust, from rust
into blanketing dust.
A bridge remains. It gets rebuilt,
before we ever can
collapse into shadowed arms.
Holding nearby light,
like a dream in our surroundings,
like a thin strand that keeps
our hurts worsened
at every witnessed kiss
on corners of our eyesight.
Tighten our grasp
to come closer.
Memories burn for these
temptations to never lessen.
Always with photographs
hung from pinned nooses.
I’ll hang for eons.
Swinging to keep you
bringing me seconds,
eclipsed on our hearts.
Modern Romanticism 