Modern Romanticism

To close a curtain,
to close these eyes
where rain fell,
after storms rose,
while nothing else
ever felt a need
to remain.

You were breathing
along the rest
of the hollowed way.

But we were sinking
beneath this pool
of colored agony.

I want what's crystal
to think about,
to clean these wounds
that decorate hands
that had held yours.

We're separated,
walking these curves,
yearning during
an exposed aftermath.

To dream will mean
to relive a nightmare,
as to hope will mean
to seek shelter
under a rope.

I want to exit
these long tunnels.
But will I ever
see a need to sever,
to tell apart
the deprivation
from satiation?