Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
When we meet, I was playing a yo-yo My smile wide and beaming It goes down Must come up What leaves always comes back You laughed at me for loving it
By Lisa Pulliam5 months ago in Poets
Beaming, glowing, delighted eyes Merriment and mirth falling all around Bubbles gliding, dancing, swaying Gentle breeze blowing lowering the heat
The evening slips into the moon. Our geckos surface, scurrying for water after a long day in unrelenting heat. The cats fold into our legs and
By River and Celia in Underland5 months ago in Poets
The dance begins, A shuffling two step, A lean forward, A shy grin "Hi" A lean back, a smile "Hi" The steps come slowly,
By M. A. Mehan 5 months ago in Poets
You say that you love me That I’m the only one Whispering sweet promises As you motion me to come near Giving me worthless presents
By Mother Combs5 months ago in Poets
Hello, I wrote this poem so I could speak straight to you— cut through the noise. I hear your voice and feel the shake of thunder.
By Bride of Sound5 months ago in Poets
You Reach My Inner Love So Sexually You reach my inner love so sexually, not with haste, not with a claim, but in the way you look straight through me,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 5 months ago in Poets
Before the first word was spoken there was this, your soul and mine circling each other like twin flames refusing to die. The moon has watched us since before she had a name for herself.
By Latoya M.D5 months ago in Poets
If we could live underwater, our lives suspended in the deep sea where light is scarce and movement is slow, would you still have such a hold on me?
By F Cade Swanson5 months ago in Poets
The Echo The rain returns, a familiar drum, On window panes, a tired hum. It left, I barely noticed then, Just sun-baked earth and dusty men.
By Edward Smith5 months ago in Poets
The world is loud, but hearts stay small, Yet even small hearts carry all. A single breath, a single choice, Can soften stone and lift a voice.
By CA'Di LUCE * Confessions & Memories in Conversations with friends!/ It’s not a revolution—it’s a quiet evolution.5 months ago in Poets
He stood, at the foot of her bed - pulling off black socks, one at a time - perfectly-toned legs, wispy black hairs against dark skin.
By Heather Scott5 months ago in Poets
