Modern Romanticism

I've rewound a broken clock,
reciting those words I said
at a door that stayed open,
while her heart closed.

I've built a system of regret
out of time's infinite grains,
bleeding tears in open daylight,
writing verse in the darkness.

One face is hanging
from its symmetrical frame,
putting no pressure on pain
that entices disdain.
It holds out a kiss
for me to reel back.
I've felt this attraction,
during hours of wishful,
suffocating hope.

I've felt this sensation,
during seconds when I can
call back those feelings
that get numbed
before colors show.

I cannot bury you
until the drought comes,
exhausting all tears,
discounting all numbers
gliding in the universe.