Modern Romanticism

I choose what I cannot undo,
loosening a tongue, hanging stones
around the hollowness
of this throat, breathing in
everywhere you've been
exhaled into vapor.

I come, crawling on these knees,
waiting for another ascension
to your face, to embed further
this heart, in the solid form
of a liquified kiss.

What will I become,
written to become
just another word before
a dying sun?

When will I bring back
a final farewell to a shadow
I have been passing?
It's a reflection of myself,
in each puddle,
created from the rain
of circumstance.

I want to reunite myself
with all that I let run down
to make this blackened skin,
burned at what I
cannot tell truth from lie.