Modern Romanticism

I would come back,
seeking photographs,
those that were smoldering.
Your face entered
this mind, stilling me,
as I never gave myself
another choice,

still wanting to grasp
what should be forgotten.

Unmoving. Unwilling
to step aside, to let run
free, the footsteps
for some other dragging mile,
since I cannot, for this life
lean into another pile
of teeming memories.

I cannot bring forth
anything else, as I cannot
bring myself to renounce you,
from this bottomless heart.
I cannot silence my voice,
wondering about you
among this veil of fog
that surrounds me.

I’ve missed the guidance,
the cherishment of knowing
that I can stand right beside you,
gifting myself spirit.

I’ll return with the kiss,
being poured down your throat,
running with these words
I cannot help but to denote
they are signaling our kind,
of everything to rewind.