romanticindeed
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Keeping here,painted in smears,letting goof teardrops from a moonwhose face is that of a silver trace,whose presence waitsfor another night, seeing me, unanswered. Broken song.A wail from a throat,and in the reiterating of speech, I repeat what I thoughtwas never said, was never repeated, was never saidwhen we were never wed. It was said,a long…
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Another night in relivingthis squall. Forming tears,to hurl, overboard,as I am warmingmy wounds on the fireof what stings in your absence. A pencil has tracedyou, in the looming clouds,having grayed on your leaving.I have kept what wordswould receive you,would let you come blooming,but you would not, as I am here,forming tears from empty air. No…
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Red winebrought forth,from a pair of raised hands,to a set of aged, dried lips.Your stare never erasedits point, of no returnof what keeps me releasingtime, into your palms, the grasp where grainsare counted, recounted,like dropletsfrom a barren sky. I retain nothingat the slightest glimpseof what was left,drawn in imperfect circles.All that is leftis a withered…
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We were, under these trees,remembering. What were we doing,listening to thudding memories? To thoughts, being buriedin chests, under earth,underfoot, and lostin the undertowof a river that keeps usmoving backwards. We drive ourselves upstream,pledging our naked eyes upon kisses,smooth with the sandswhere we once traced our names,like promises onto immaculatedisplays of white. Lovers, in sight,within their…
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Who knewwhile our ends met,that the journey would catch ablaze,that the suns were set,that, upon our pain,we would never be fazed? We still tookto cast ourselves off,like fishes who gained their freedom,but we were still on hooks.We were stillhoping – being behind curtains,behind the shieldthat kept us stilled,for unmentioned seconds, within gnarled arms,among histories that…
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Being one, with deceit,a formal kind of forfeiture,cradling a weight, above my laplike a cherished infant,letting mildew growon the tearstained curtains –those I never dried,from desperate years. Forgetting the reasonhe grew up, designing himselfto die in an embrace,long as the universe,though confined to a void. Embracing the phaseof a moon, of a lifethat doesn’t aim…
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Who goes,there? Who reenters?Where? Are you there,hearing me mourn,noticing me wilt,stuck on my thorns? I am reusingmy familiar tragedy,holding my headin helpless hands. I reach for eternityto bring back the void,tugging on dark threads,as love’s famed sicknessplays dirges for the dead. Burning. In these waters,I am drowning upon sights,letting winter disguise mein harrowing white, because…
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Like exhumed flamefrom some unseen heart,we fell, reveling ineverything we took from the startof those bridges. To them, we raised themas crippled children,lost in their minds.Lost, though refinedin where they danced,eager to be loston some amusing path, serenading their wickednesson the path’s own twist. You were brought hereto speak for what we lost.We were made,…
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A moment of bleedingpalms, onto sands,hands into outstretched shores, dropping salt into a wound,carving into riverswhat were those unset letters,going downstreamwith the unheard criesadding more to the floodof words. What rose?From a horizon,a line that broke, on a promise,on a signature never written,because that heartthat came closebled, on an oceanwhere yearning was everyone’s error,everyone’s memorialized…
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Like leaking highways,running freelyto those endings,colliding against happiness,within sceneriesthat are desertinglove, at its goodbye,at the released sigh. Like what we could calla space, for our bliss.Like what we could namea face, for a kiss, we were once trapped,wanting moreto the torture,blowing out candles,to get grounded,in our roots,burning in thrashing limbs,wielding fire in our hands,our ancient…
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Heaven’s voicefills your lungswith something otherthan smoke, with somethingother than those tears,as it must bethat you are healingapart from the one,the embittered onewho held your throatin vaporous kisses. We disappeared,together, as we witheredlike petals that divorcetheir towers, their stems,into becoming fevers, as if we shouted at the sunfor a different kind of warmth. We wanted…
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Pathway,a doorway,an outside beyondyour radiance, to a shadowthat never forgetswhat it once heldinside empty palms. Blue in the face,suffocating in the spaceof what was leftpuddling here, among tears, of thosethat will not leavefor upcoming years, and among your fossil,the one that disguiseshistory’s blank curtain, for you are always one tokeep resurrecting.
Modern Romanticism 