Modern Romanticism

Laying naked, among this forest
of your quiet voice,
like a hushed whisper
that keeps singing aloud a memory
I want to forget, I want to lose
along with what I’ve lost.

In letting you go,
can I go? Can I run
far from your swollen arms?
You were hurt, buried in life,
beneath all that sheltered you
under a glowing sun.
We had hope,
though you clung to a rope.

To all events I’ve come to say
have been long over, came too late,
you want to keep pain an enticement.
You want to drink from cups
that are leaking,
like you wanted to siphon away
the gleam from our stars,

because nothing gave you solace
to admit we’ve won our wars.

I loved until our hearts broke,
until our reflections turned scarred
before we noticed them
floating away.