Drinking up,
all that repelled us
into unending doubt,
what made us go away,
finding serenity
with quieter thoughts.
Lighting our way
with the subtlety
of fireflies,
while waiting for that moment
to bury our lips into the other.
To drown senseless sentences
into words, with words
becoming fragile whispers.
All our steps went one way,
while our breaths formed a storm,
as we dragged our bodies,
our weighted skin
towards a playground
of dust, with familiar spaces
where we shared visions,
next to everything,
close to nothing.
I find that
what will matter most
are those turns over
a naked, bruised shoulder,
to see those gates
Heaven once left open-wide,
wider than our arms,
wider than our mouths
always guessing at our second
to rescue our light,
our faces –
a twin’s reflection.
Modern Romanticism 