Modern Romanticism

Through multiples,
seconds travelling
in an airborne rush,
I've called off daylight
to spend a drop of myself
in the darkness
of where you linger.

Let's no longer be
miles apart, when we
can, at last, restart
our damaged hearts.

Pages of fatal history
can be burned, in this
assortment of heaven's
guided burials.

I am no longer
wishing to sink a form
into the tasteless daytime,
when I can, when I must
bring rain onto
a sea of white.

I can run hands against
your perfect shape,
your symmetrical angles.
I can feel all that will
never collapse into a pile,
while I can learn
that with this,
it has been earned.