Modern Romanticism

You were wiping
your twin’s reflection
from your favorite mirror.
I have been eclipsing
this heart, from a different,
unfamiliar reflection,

for I want what’s similar
to keep staring back at me,
in those wires,
those tangles.

Threads were all we had,
baring our flesh,
after being reduced
to ashes and vulnerability.

Wilted forms, with screams
to the burial of thorns
into uncovered flesh.

I love to see this sickness
by what we both witnessed
in each other,

imagining nothing more
in that frozen retention.