Modern Romanticism

Who were we?
Under synchronized sunrises,
dust began floating. We were feeling
what two lovers will drink
from their cups, of extended toll.

Passing on a highway, to that drift
where we explored inside
our eyes, for fountains of depth.

What did we see?
A plain of emptiness,
a space of white, soon to be
drawn over in collections
of starlit photographs,

until we had enough,
becoming stuck in what
we could not –
we could never.

We could not keep going
on this race, to keep us guessing
as to when we will stop,
but for what?

In our memories,
we understand a future
we were deeming wasn’t enough
for what was enough,
between us.