Modern Romanticism

In this convergence,
we discovered our lanes to be
divided, forked like a devil’s tongue,
though we were united,
having decided, having ignited
our stars upon a single spark.

We stripped roses of their petals,
gardens of their bloom,
while we kissed between the thorns,
knowing pain will bring us into storms.

In love with a pathway
that leads us back into gray.
Our truth, bottled in,
encased as a light
we prayed would always stay.

Backtracking our voices,
disembodied like our bodies
that are dismembered,
like these fragments to remember.

Are we ever looking back,
to keep well with what we need?

Or are we just glancing
over a bruised shoulder,
seeing a settled weight,
within a past that could last
in its discolored state?