Come here.
Drown there,
relived in teeming agony.
We’ll fall, coming close
to death, once more,
being relit with a single candle
near an open sore.
Kisses for this connection,
an embrace upon that resurrection,
with love, like a tool
to fix what cannot be broken,
even if, even when
pieces of our reflection
are decorating our flesh,
on bleeding cuts.
Taking down stars,
raising wars,
believing in things that fade
on rivers where we wade,
searching through debris
that drenches our feet,
for something, only something
to keep us in the shade.
Modern Romanticism 