Modern Romanticism

Let yourself know
that I’ve not dreamed
with an anchor being buried
in the mire,

despite our veins having been
stopped of their flow.

Despite our whims,
we’ve made a home on the rocks
where ships were wounded,
where hearts were lost.

Some will follow
each step of a bloodied stream,
but we turn to the rust,

letting kisses rot,
when we must.

We’ve imprinted our stops,
hearing heartbeats flood
eternal emotions across,
towards spaces
we will not go.

We’ve taken notice
of an observant moon,
bright to its gleam –
as it glances
to our surrounding bloom.

We’ve been overlooking
a time to surrender, to streams,
to a familiar rush,
whenever to be back-to-back
in dirtying wars, inside the tides.

When we’ve crashed,
we’ve faltered, in our ways.
We’ve lasted,
if meaning to present ourselves
as smoke, from fire,
as words, withdrawn like tears,

caught in our lungs,
hung from our eyes.

We lack the control
in letting anything go,
to risk us, for a freedom
with memories,
in tow.