Deprived, somehow
you have survived
a descent, to crawl towards
your four corners,
sinking in order to
always arrive.
Damaged lungs,
breaths come through
from a face, that twists
with autumn’s reveal,
beyond decorative green.
Your crisp, wandering spirit
yearning for more to sunder for,
swimming in depth over depth,
layers of discarded touch.
One lesson has never been enough
to remind you of a sickness,
where condemnation has become
space for you to witness.
From lips that match their kiss
to poisoned rivers, drinking bliss,
rowing your despondency
towards another void,
for your dependency.
Modern Romanticism 
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