love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
In That Zone
I ask my love out on a date, but I couldn't wait to be honest with her - I want to be friends. I'm in that zone where My pilot navigation skills aren't helping me land this conversation with ease. I had to hold her hand sometimes for support as we hit a certain threshold. My heart stopped, and I turned to look at her. She thought I had finally come to my senses and was about to kiss her, but in reality, I was only seeking some fresh air. I smell a strong scent of heartbreak. It's a pretty unloving dirty jungle out here.
By Arlo Wysee5 months ago in Poets
23 days
I dig my toes in the sand as I watch the sunrise on the beach, listening to the waves crash to shore. I exist somewhere between inner peace and a soft loneliness. The hues of orange peaking through the clouds as the colour of the sky mixes in together like a beautiful symphony, gracing us with its rising. I picture you, sitting behind me with my head lying on your chest, feeling every heartbeat and every breath. The warmth of your skin brushes mine as we take in the view in quiet stillness. We do not need words to communicate, as our souls intertwine into one another and sway to the vibration of this beautiful sunrise. Riding the same frequency. You rest one hand on my chest and the other on my head, gliding your fingers through my hair. My breathing slows, and this sense of calmness and safety travels through my mind and body as I feel you here in every way. Your smell passes by me with the help of the wind, and I breathe in deep and shut my eyes for a second, thanking the universe for sending you to me. I open my eyes and return to the reality of you being out of reach.
By Rebekah BT5 months ago in Poets
Fading Footsteps
Winter evening snow your footsteps fade from the path silence follows me ***** ****** ***** Author’s Note:This haiku was born from the quiet moment after someone leaves, when nothing dramatic happens—yet everything feels different. It is not about winter, but what winter does to memory: how it softens presence into absence, and turns footsteps into echoes you keep hearing long after they’re gone.
By Rohit Kalsariya 5 months ago in Poets
