Modern Romanticism

Above ashes,
we return to form,
bathing in colors
we forgot.

Our kisses,
always deep
for our hearts,
always simple
the moment we soften
our hold on its strings.

Safe in connection,
letting waters we once
called an enemy
pass our standing presence.

There’s something eternal
about what we deliver
to our bodies,
from our dreams.

Burdens run by
on their ephemeral
course into a drain,
unable to
stop where our feet
are concentrated.

I’ll hold your head,
let the strands wander,
see the next life
in your eyes.

We’ll handle our stability
with greater grace,
folding around our growth
in a perpetual embrace.