Modern Romanticism

Don’t attempt to devote
any lingering appetite
to this curse
of love, of what we’ll say
we just want.

Pain is the lost ingredient
telling us cut off
this flooded timeline.

We tried.
but more than that,
we dried
tears of bitterness,
while our hearts fled
far from a scornful sun.

We stilled our minds
for mere seconds.
We told our bodies
it was for a lifetime.

We’re left to unravel
all we had hoarded,
before we had realized
we’d been dreaming.

There’s memories to tell
to our reflection in an ocean,
glowing among stars.

There’s this needed rift
echoing our tragedy,
reminded from scars.