Modern Romanticism

I am digging.
I find a path
that travels back
to that place –
that spot where we were lost
in each other’s strangling arms.

When hands were clinging
onto fading bodies,
we felt breaths shift into silence.
An exhale pressed against sails,
departing a ship into a sunset,

and we felt a kiss surrender our faces,
landing into soil, fused with our toil.

It was when love was a degree to rise,
as lust was a minute to forget
all our lost causes;

but here, I remember
if to dismember a future
from a vivid history.

Here, pages are burning,
but nothing has been turning
down a different aisle.

Just the same path
that travels back
to that cave to crawl into,
rewriting familiar names
with strange letters.