Modern Romanticism

Distant heart,
flooded world,
I am a breath apart
from the one
who keeps falling.

You've sealed yourself
in dire protection,
letting yourself bloom
with roots reaching upwards.
You crave the clouds,
when they will
rush along your scenery
from racing storms.

How you have blended
your clasped hands,
into unison.

How you will always
revive a slowing pulse,
to repeat the tale.

I cannot be your cure,
though I will walk along
with torn sails,
blistered skin.
My wings are burning,
just like yours,

while I write the chapters
that you read aloud,
indefinitely.