Modern Romanticism

I wished to see the daylight
before it expired, beyond our rush,
to be behind our need to touch
a sign of pleasant hope,
in this dimness,
of worsening vision.

It is this, while I wish to keep returning
to wounds, that leak from where
we were discovered, there,
at a place where funerals are bare.

I am living in our aftermath,
but we both wanted to keep on.
We both designed ourselves
to see a journey continue to float
our naked bodies,
even while broken in two.

We both drank from that well
of a poisoned hope, even while
it appeared the pleasantness
we wanted to keep standing in,
like an ocean without need
of an anchor.

We could, as we did
keep swimming, but we swam
beyond the evidence
of being among one another,
in the swell of tides that kept us
eternalizing the other.

I keep returning
to those same memories,
lifting portrait after portrait
to our blinded eyes,
from an unseen depth.