Modern Romanticism

Consistency in distance.
Constant in my usual
pledges, of detailed remorse,
laying a finger, loosened,
stinging on ancient promise.

Unexplored hallways, of a heart
ticking under a clock’s pendulum,

keeping itself hanging.

To another display,
I would revive all those dead
words, rewriting letters
that were never read.

Without failure, I would
gift additional unity
to those waters, clasping within
all mirrors,

all fragments, of reflections,
I have not sustained.

Let longing be impossible,
while love rewinds all forlorn minds,
luring gray skies, into sweet downpours,
where-after eyelids, have opened,

revealing scenes, representing dreams
at unboxed, disrobed devotion.