Modern Romanticism

Seating yourself
across from me,
always well away
from hope's pendulum's
eternal sway.

You are distancing
your heart, your hope
to find belonging
among dead angels.

What a direction
to find yourself,
in the wind, as identical
to what breath you release.

You have exposed the flesh,
beneath the feathers
on your wings.

You have waited years
to fear nothing
at the end of a knot.

Your neck is what
can be kissed, while your
throat contains air
to release that pressure,
to let go of what can be
given its freedom,
not its slavery.