Modern Romanticism

I've remained here,
choosing what candles
deserve their light,
leaving faint traces
in their swirling form.

Carve me a sentence,
tell me a speech
where death does not
guide me to your spot.

I'll kiss your marble lips,
revive a glimmer
in a silenced heart.

I'll discard what meaning
I've deceived myself
in ever having,
when waters kept
leaking from red,
swollen eyes.

If I might ever
hold your hand, again,
I'll play back your tune
you kept in a closet
where I've been hiding.

I'll keep to the way
when we were always
down on knees, to pray
for eternity to be
what we were meant
to continue to be.