Connecting eyes,
resurrecting our disguise.
Letting us down
with droplets of rain
carving ripples around.
Release your smoke
to trail backwards,
allowing memories
to build that boat,
sinking on a passage.
We come down,
imprinting ourselves
in each other's skin.
Release your words,
walking them forward,
disallowing tragedies
from suffocating
our embrace into fever.
We've brought around
layer after countless layers,
pulling folds close.
Is this something to shelter?
Are these moments something
to let us through,
always into forever?
Modern Romanticism 
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