Modern Romanticism

Dancing around puddles
where reflections were made
from stalled thunderclouds,
while recollecting
what little time we had
to depart, to soon embark
on that second journey.

A lasting measure,
in seeking seconds for more
to unwind for, in this heat
of knowing when to deplete
the gold from the ivory.

We tasted each other’s lips,
went across our sacred miles,
healing scars, marching on
through wounds that we nurtured,
as we kept our crowns high.

We’re here to be reminded
of our ways, taken away
from yesterday’s depiction.
A false ceremony
that let us be revealed,
in sealing words into pages,
embedding footprints
into fresh snow.