Modern Romanticism

Marking a spot
within a mile
I’ve walked, if not
always to leave alone,
but to keep coming to –
coming to sensations,
coming back to those trills
upon discarded flesh.

I am emptying
what I’ve kept
locked inside,

breaking me down,
lifting me up
from trembling floors
where these walls
are colored in your color,

a depth where I’ve dropped,
facing that which
reflects me, into nothingness.

Lost in a place,
where emotions have cost
everything I’ve dragged across
to that abyss, dressed in nakedness,

as I am wondering
if you are hearing me
pleading where I am staring.

I’ve looked into what doesn’t look back.

I have watched depart
what cannot be brought back.