Romance
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A burial, beneatha lighthouse, upona weathered shore.A line had been drawnto communicate our distance, as it wasthis disassembling passing. I live to drinkof that last mile,carving pain into these waters,hearing my heartbeatwandering into those depths,yet yearning for servicebeyond this darkness. I have loved,remaining as a sinking shipnever deserting its ocean.I call out for echoesto return…
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Carried underthe returning eyes,the swellingof countless times to crybefore a sunsetthat speaks to its mark,of an ending to daytime’shinted mystery. Walking underthe breaking of a spark,because hope had peaked itselfbefore we abandonedthe leftover mark. Another tragicrewinding to another daywhen all our fearsare counted, leaning intothe union of dismaywith the fears of yesterday. Another time to…
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Another loosened teardropblending in with rain,as I cling here, to walls,reunited with the sadnessonce more, under this hazeof distance and madness. I have come, here,wanting something near,as I have framedyour face, another timein the thinnest of borders, hoping to both remove youfrom freedom to this mind,and to remember whatkeeps blooming you. Holes in these hands;sacrificial,…
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We left our burial,of its golden color, forgettingwhat would keep ussurrendering in its entanglement.We are bleeding winterfrom our veins –ice-covered roots,mixing with a silver sheenfrom one remembrance,one encroaching moon. We are matchingwhat takes to emptyingour throats, our voiceof its substance.Take us to be children,lifting our eyesto see who scorns us,among our mire-coated bodies –of disdain…
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Painful imagining.I swear, with a teardrop,that you have gone underthe waves that were tossed,from these embracing hands.Was I ever someonewho let you in, like a door that tremors,in the space of passing gusts? A longing. Alongthe thin, sand-covered miles,surging you to seethat some things do accompanythese borderlines.Somewhere, dropletswould have been spreadfor your feet to walk,…
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Whose sun was risingin your vacant direction?Another clipse, another wishleft to the passing stars.You weren’t ablazewith their touch,just as you cannotfind yourselfable, to have meas I will be. I am burning, here,covered in dust,awaiting your spaceto reopen, with the numbersfalling awayinto the forgetful grey. But I am losingwhat I cannot recover,being this heart, confoundedin an…
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I would come back,seeking photographs,those that were smoldering.Your face enteredthis mind, stilling me,as I never gave myselfanother choice, still wanting to graspwhat should be forgotten. Unmoving. Unwillingto step aside, to let runfree, the footstepsfor some other dragging mile,since I cannot, for this lifelean into another pileof teeming memories. I cannot bring forthanything else, as I…
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I am astir. I am present,shadowed into you,the loveless who dried herselfbefore me, of all her tearsfrom earlier years. You have helped yourselfbreathe in, among winds,within the tracingof distant sands, as I have, in your gracegiven myself even space, while clouds are our quilts,the blue of the skybeing a memento to griefthat love can undo.…
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Beneath summer clouds,we wait for the rainto keep stains engravedin those we failed to save. Oil mixes in with waterwhen remorse marries intothe next life, harmonized withthese falling petals. A mute chimeblanketed with the fog –the state of our heartsbeing bogged,returning to the brinkwhere silence hasits own sound. A remembered crimeleaves us, upon the timewhen…
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Only whenI choose, to come in –always withinthe haze of a fearless night,you are tragic.You brought your burialinto town, leading the firefor your frail, vacant eyes. You want this. Holding outyour seconds like naked flesh,letting your words slipwith the crudeness of dust. I am the witness.I have lost, upon whatmight have beena singular, in the…
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Another thing tosee, coming toblatant history.Another comma writtenin the letter, near the letterswhere the pile is justa mound of sandwhere time would float,above the grains,among the pain. White-out, the refrain,the telltale existenceof a never-ending reunionbetween a sun and a moon.When light has curtains,a blindness occurs, horror begins,frailty stirs. Outstretched palms,open eyes. What are we,in this…
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Two tales,one defeatat the silenceof one careless heartbeat.Twistedness, and draininginto discoloration. Our feversoared for temperatures,uneven. We letour shade get faltered,becoming halfwaywith light and dark. Two eyes, sightless,needing their contactsof other angels,of those who arebranding footsteps –the ones wekept hearingto keep callingour namesake,our sanctity. Being footsteps, of thehundred miles when wewere wandering, living foranother decorated instance.Becoming…
Modern Romanticism 