Modern Romanticism

Putting together
each scattered shard,
letting a puzzle become
the smooth reflection.

The taste of our flesh,
echoing upon dull thuds
after we fall.

The marble of our forms,
tied to be motionless,
to be taught.

We appreciate the might
of a flower,
through its growth,
upon the whiff
of fragrance, in the heat
of our retreat.

Inside each other,
like buried secrets,
dressed in rain.

This garden will burn,
these moments will turn
into vague memories.

We know what nights
we have left to be,
to just be, going on
in this way.