Modern Romanticism

Undress that which
comes off, that rapidly.
You share comfort
with a crowd, poisoned with
frenzied laughter,
while I've tugged at your
form, to come closer.

You've walked a lane,
passing shadows that have
done everything to entertain
all of your defeat.

A breath will come loose,
a teardrop will create
a forgotten crater at your feet.
In neglecting a wound,
you bleed, you weep
until history will close
at its final chapter.

A mirror reveals
thin contours, an imprisoning
effect, to sustain you.
I am nothing in your reminder
to keep swallowing this bitterness,

this anguish that allows you
to flow with continuance.