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.
Modern Romanticism 