Wild change, summer’s plea
to bring me aside,
to space me apart from when
you went by. You were those winds
invisible between fingers,
arranged among a loose grasp
with remembrance to what you wore
upon nights of passion,
heated to adore.
Those sounds in the lush rush,
rapid in all those footsteps,
yet you hushed me
like a child with a believed fable,
among a heart without sense.
I remain here to call close
all those brushed droplets
from enclosed palms, never knowing
what had been a proper dose
to drink from,
to bring from
behind your curtains
where you hid, where you
always knew what to fib
to keep me guessing.
I relive those playful moments,
drowned under your gaze.
Beautiful, to that dust
falling from your ruined eyes,
caught at these fingers
lingering here, grasping
what revives only
in these brittle thoughts.
Modern Romanticism 