Modern Romanticism

What did you do?
Going there, knowing where
my body might fall,
letting the rocks come loose,
from mountains.

I am still wishing
that you, with your infinite turns
will return.

I am still hoping
that secrets are not your way.
I am still glancing
over these pale shoulders
to see something I
I had missed,

like another reflection of mine
I had left, in those
bottomless lakes.

You were gone,
the moment I blinked.
You were desperate
to see the sun rise, before
the mourning ever came,

while I am here,
alone, in the drift,
going pale, without going sick,

as love was always an inch away.
Its fever, its reminder
that nothing could, in my blindness
find itself going astray.