Modern Romanticism

Style doesn’t count,
while you’ve wormed
your comfortable way
into elevating excuses.

I’m dragged back
into believing you.

Recreate my storm,
having let this go on
into infinite suds.

I’ve been digging
to find the wound
that’s on the surface.

You were never more
than an inch deep,
building a world
only under the waves
of finite tears.

Comparable to death,
this love has let me
choose my last breath.

Because you’ll continue
your haunt, beyond this,
into what I cannot
wish away with a kiss.

I want to be more than
what I’ve gone against,
throwing myself over
countless hurdles
to understand the song
of a yearning heart.

I want to bleed back
into a new beginning,
into finding that space
where I lost track.