Modern Romanticism

It wasn’t our time
to wait for,
reliving a crude connection,
revisiting a storm
that sinks our anchors,
before our eyes.

We were meant
to plummet, to see
into depths, for our belief
in one cemented path.

We ended up
digging our nails
into earthen flesh,
tricking death
into letting us live
without grace.

We were meant
for a different avenue,
not an escape route
to soften our descent.

The hard crush
had been our opportunity
to shoulder the sickness
that love is.

Our crime was an evening
we ran for the sun
before it left us.

Our time for a mixture
of rushing feelings,
was used up.

We cradle sadness
like a soaked dish rag.
We’re idle with misery
burying our hearts.