Modern Romanticism

Which way
would have gotten us
closer, to one another?
It might have been
either way where we
might have ever believed
that the destination
was worth all our
decided exposure.

What other way
might have brought
our lips closer,
to say what we wanted
to ever say?

Being dragged into
each other, bonded in rope,
frozen with the hope
that kept pages loose,
kept words floating.

No one wanted to say
we were suffering this way
where we could not help
everything while anything
might have caused us
to fall on knees to pray.

A fever, our warmth,
with the coldness
of space, where objects,
where mementos
might have been,
kept our composure.

A false state of stability
with an incurable sickness
delivered us to our arms,
while we hated to admit
that we lost more than
what we would depict.