Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
Bound In Pink They said books were only paper and glue, yet these are stitched with something softer. Ribboned shut like secrets kept for years,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 7 months ago in Poets
Continually Gathering what sustains me From this sea of words
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden7 months ago in Poets
We Were Married But We Were Lonely We were married but we were lonely, Sleeping inches apart. The bed held two bodies, But no warmth.
Skin to skin for the last time. - Legs cautiously tangled, two bodies asleep but still responding to touch, - a much appreciated peace, however brief,
By Reece Beckett7 months ago in Poets
All Of The Flowers, Their Leave Were Just Flyin When They Saw Two Lips Kissed By A Tall Dandy Lion. The Tall Flower Stood As Tall As Can Be.
By David E. Perry7 months ago in Poets
Okay lets try this love thing again Don't let this one be part of the devil's plan Love is never a distraction I put in the work and keep getting the adverse reactions
By L.I.E7 months ago in Poets
You wake me up with green juice and a cortado. How dare you, make my mind mush? The sweet hum of your kiss as my alarm clock.
By Samantha Elisabeth7 months ago in Poets
Writing words for you feels harder than a novel’s end, Because you are not just my mother — you are my heart, my friend. You and I have walked through storms no one could see,
By Ina Zeneli7 months ago in Poets
His hand on my throat - I supped at his seduction Scant morsels To feed my hunger Ease the ache inside - His hand on my throat
By Kristen Haveman7 months ago in Poets
I don't want flowers at my funeral I want flowers all the time in general I don't want flowers when I'm dead Pink and red are my favorite flowers, I said
By Denise E Lindquist7 months ago in Poets
Thoughts of me feel safest inside the words you are poised to free from void Your voice more velvet than volume reserves pride of place
By The Dani Writer7 months ago in Poets
The Crystal Ball Bowed My crystal ball bowed to her light, Not to fantasy, not to passing desire. It recognised something older than memory,
