Modern Romanticism

It’s been the wait
leaving the both of us
as plain as daylight,
with dawn’s wash
to turn our flesh
into vapor,
observing eyes
into mist.

We’re here to no longer
count the stars
for the infinite tears,
present our hopes
up on high,

because it’s how
we will be soaring
to reach Heaven,
before its gates.

Our tides have turned,
catching us startled,
making us breathless.

Yours is a shape to want,
a form that solidifies
all I need to unite
a pair of hands
to your skin.

I’ll grip what won’t
be cast aside,
due to one more doubt
that’ll be drowned under
the tides that once
made us kneel.

We’ve created our fate
as one comfortable,
gratifying connection,
disabling departure
that would have left us
sinking under stone.

I’ll treat you to a meal
of longest gazes,
covering your form
in solid colors
that splash in the white,
that run in the night
where everything is right.