I have explored your fears,
tasted tears that have kissed your neck,
bruised, at strangulation from time’s
repetitious epiphanies.
What don’t you know?
To be whom, you want to grow?
Like a serpent, your coils
are wrapped around your eternally
fading heart,
while I resisted letting go
of what continued to snow.
Keeping danger clear,
letting your hopes cross
over a rope,
though it was only
a noose that let you float.
In your pain, you have a name.
A lie among reflections
in your endless teardrops,
and you’ll keep crying
if it means
those winds will bring you close
to that repeated embrace.
Can death love you more than I?
Will you be tranquil,
watching darkness not looking back?
Modern Romanticism 