Burn through – blessed through
and through, beyond Heaven’s gates,
and all emotions across
will be picked up,
left off in some scenic turbulence.
Are we this close,
when we cannot even merge
with a tear that never dries?
One complete sentence
follows an incomplete vow.
An ocean, between,
among all sadness and scenes,
bleeding in between
moments we thought the most
had mattered,
in a thin universe,
where all is aflame,
all has been open.
Confessions and regressions,
a terminal commencement
to drown us into silence.
One kiss, implored for,
a naked stare in another’s eyes –
your own, and your own
into mine,
as we counted time, signaling
directions where we faulted ourselves
on blatant, boundless insurrection,
deciding nothing at the sound of alarm.
Were we meant to leave
due process to due process,
departing at open doors,
and witnessing our sadness
melt into thin air?
Modern Romanticism 