Modern Romanticism

Am I not that sign
whom you’ve shadowed?
An anchor has kept you kneeling
in hopes, for something else
to drop, to keep you close,

or closer.

In love, with a method
of having your arms outspread,
your mouth wide open,
hoping for what will connect,
will come to rekindle
a familiar rush.

Who will you find,
who will come from behind?
He will rope his promises
around your soft neck,
to leave you naked in an ocean
that has stilled of its motion.

Am I not that warning
whom you’ve given light to,
upon a carved-out highway?

Was I ever that message
for you to receive?
Was I ever that remedy
for you to believe?