Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
I start with the way your breath feels near mine, soft as a promise no one else will ever hear. There’s a hush between us,
By Printique Studios11 months ago in Poets
Unfolded like a flower in your garden Intoxicated by the power of your touch Unaware that your heart had grown hardened I displayed my pedals secrets in your church
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden11 months ago in Poets
His Last Wishes I watched the last fire fading tonight, its quiet light drifting softly through air, and it felt like the world learning to end,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 11 months ago in Poets
There are apples everywhere, Here and there, Some are hanging up above, Others are lying near my feet, I will pick them all.
By Rebecca Patton11 months ago in Poets
Rust-Tasting Hope I’ve drunk from chipped enamel cups, from faucets lined with red, from pipes that coughed up yesterday and iron in the bread.
By Milan Milic11 months ago in Poets
Bent way over, like the branches of a weeping willow you shyly peer into my bedroom shades And I adjust that old goose down, feather pillow
Whispering You Love Me Your voice fell soft upon my skin, a warmth that moved through every thought, and when you whispered that you cared,
O quiet mirror of eternity, Silver witness of our restless minds, I write to you as Plato might have— when he saw shadows dance against the cave wall
By Lin. J11 months ago in Poets
Dear Moon, I’m writing from the edge of another sleepless evening. The city hums like a tired machine, and yet you rise — slow, patient,
By Erick Galaviz11 months ago in Poets
Don’t Be Sorry Be You Do not shrink down to fit their hands, do not apologise for breath, you were not made to dim your light,
dear halo of hers, did she let her hair down tonight? is her duvet still grey? do her eyebrows still tell on her? i guess what i'm trying to say to you is that you see her in ways i don't anymore. you hover above her city the way you do mine, with pale indifference. you are the impartial witness to how her name still quivers in my mouth.
By Daniel K11 months ago in Poets
The Queen is dead. (They say she fell) . One year of mourning, Dues are paid. . So when the dawn next breaks, Yellow canaries start their calling,
By Eve Hill11 months ago in Poets
