Modern Romanticism

I've trapped us
under dark skies,
knotting our darker,
heavier sides,
while kissing fingertips,
lit, like candleflame.

I've watched for tides,
coming closer, as we were
going under,

embracing under aromatic,
quenching caresses.

Holding closed
a once-wide open door,
letting years slip by
into formless oblivion.

Hushing mouths,
rewriting vows, beginning to
breathe in what we cannot,
though we will,

drowning in every part of
our bottomless scenery.