Modern Romanticism

Couldn’t you tell
when it had been
our moment to utter
an overdue farewell?

We stabbed our hearts,
letting us bleed towards
a setting sun.

There was enough smoke
from what we burned,
enough cinders for a home
where we never returned.

Retreating back in
wouldn’t be the way.
We can't go in
for one last chance
to come back out,
with surrender
to our gaze,
with excitement
to our touch.

Love flew its flag,
charted our lonely course,
as we gave up the milestones
to be left in the depths.

Now being left to implore
each other, to explore
the thin horizon
from beyond where we
lost ourselves.