Modern Romanticism

Placement of a word
on a pair of rotten lips,
as old as the verse
coming between
two souls, who converse
in their tragic undoing.

They've been longing
to rewrite the history
that's been sagging
tired eyes, withered arms,
to the graveyard of
footprinted floors.

They've been choosing
to see the sunset,
before the sunrise,
blossoming only when
matters become worse.

Dragging a spontaneous,
unfurled decision,
lingering upon instinct
with its reeling head.

No one comes around
to save their scars from
becoming more numerous
than the countless stars.

Draining their eyes
into the final immediacy
when gardens rise
if just to sever petals.