love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
The Weaver of Tattered Stars
The sky was a frayed tapestry when I woke, its edges unraveling into threads of molten gold, dripping like candle wax onto a meadow of whispering clover. It was September, or so my heart said, though time felt slippery here, like syrup sliding off a spoon. My hands were stained with star-dust, glittering faintly, and my eyes—oh, they spun like laser-discs, reflecting a poison apple sun that melted into pools of fizzing blue. I wasn’t sure how I’d arrived, but the air hummed with purpose, and I knew I had seven days to weave something whole from this broken dream.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Poets
