ATouchOfPoetry - Hello Poetry

if love were perfect, it would never ache, no misunderstandings, no hearts to break. each word would flow like a gentle stream, every glance a promise, every touch a dream. there’d be no storms, only sunlit days, no silent treatments, just warm embraces. but maybe it’s the flaws, the cracks that we find, that teach us to cherish the love that’s designed. for in the imperfect, we truly see, the beauty of love, in its authenticity.

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Sep 29, 2024

Sep 29, 2024 at 6:50 PM UTC

If Love Was Perfect

if love were perfect, it would never ache, no misunderstandings, no hearts to break. each word would flow like a gentle stream, every glance a promise, every touch a dream. there’d be no storms, only sunlit days, no silent treatments, just warm embraces. but maybe it’s the flaws, the cracks that we find, that teach us to cherish the love that’s designed. for in the imperfect, we truly see, the beauty of love, in its authenticity.

20

I haven't forgotten what your smile looks like, the way it breaks open the sky in halves, how it once carved a path through my ribs, a gentle cut that never stopped bleeding. I haven't forgotten the curve of your lips, a half-moon rising in the darkness, pulling the tides of my body to shore, reaching inside to stitch the torn seams. I haven't forgotten the way you tasted, like salt and sugar mixed in a kiss, your laughter a bird trapped in the room, desperate to escape but never willing. I haven't forgotten the silence you left, the echo of that smile in empty rooms, a ghost haunting the space between breaths, and still, it lingers, a wound unhealed.

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Sep 11, 2024

Sep 11, 2024 at 5:28 PM UTC

I Haven't Forgotten

I haven't forgotten what your smile looks like, the way it breaks open the sky in halves, how it once carved a path through my ribs, a gentle cut that never stopped bleeding. I haven't forgotten the curve of your lips, a half-moon rising in the darkness, pulling the tides of my body to shore, reaching inside to stitch the torn seams. I haven't forgotten the way you tasted, like salt and sugar mixed in a kiss, your laughter a bird trapped in the room, desperate to escape but never willing. I haven't forgotten the silence you left, the echo of that smile in empty rooms, a ghost haunting the space between breaths, and still, it lingers, a wound unhealed.

16

Pat, pat, pat—a constant rhythm as the raindrops collide against her umbrella, shielding her like a knight from countless tiny foes. She goes about her day, a bouquet of vibrant flowers picked along her travels cradled in her arms, whispering sweet nothings to herself. It’s the details she longs to capture and hold forever. She examines the delicate wet spot on a petal, magnifying each perfect imperfection—the subtle curves, the soft hues—because in that reflection, she sees herself, and there’s beauty in that too.

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Oct 24, 2021

Oct 24, 2021 at 3:24 PM UTC

Beauty Among The Rain

Pat, pat, pat—a constant rhythm as the raindrops collide against her umbrella, shielding her like a knight from countless tiny foes. She goes about her day, a bouquet of vibrant flowers picked along her travels cradled in her arms, whispering sweet nothings to herself. It’s the details she longs to capture and hold forever. She examines the delicate wet spot on a petal, magnifying each perfect imperfection—the subtle curves, the soft hues—because in that reflection, she sees herself, and there’s beauty in that too.

2

She laid on the bed and opened the cover to her book, and I began to read, consuming myself with each ****** that ensued. The words from her pages began to get louder and wilder with every flick of my moist finger, my tongue felt heavy with an appetite - an insatiable hunger for a good book. I read until she began to unravel at the spine and covers began to submit to its own weight, she could not let me read another drop, her final words on her last chapter were good.

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Jan 31, 2020

Jan 31, 2020 at 3:53 PM UTC

A Good Book

She laid on the bed and opened the cover to her book, and I began to read, consuming myself with each ****** that ensued. The words from her pages began to get louder and wilder with every flick of my moist finger, my tongue felt heavy with an appetite - an insatiable hunger for a good book. I read until she began to unravel at the spine and covers began to submit to its own weight, she could not let me read another drop, her final words on her last chapter were good.

3

I want the words that I write to be a crime, that way, your lust for danger will draw your eyes to me. The trouble maker.

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Dec 20, 2019

Dec 20, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC

Prohibition

I want the words that I write to be a crime, that way, your lust for danger will draw your eyes to me. The trouble maker.

2

Let me love you like it's a new religion. Let me love you consistently and patiently. Let your mind, body and soul be my place of worship. × Let me read your foundation, your values, your principles and your statutes, so I can lay them to memory. × Loving you will be the core to everything I do. × Please allow me to put my words into practice and review the stories of your past ex's mistakes, so I can learn from them and be the upgrade you've been looking for. × Amen. × (sumairu¶oetry)

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Nov 13, 2019

Nov 13, 2019 at 7:13 PM UTC

The Religion Of You

Let me love you like it's a new religion. Let me love you consistently and patiently. Let your mind, body and soul be my place of worship. × Let me read your foundation, your values, your principles and your statutes, so I can lay them to memory. × Loving you will be the core to everything I do. × Please allow me to put my words into practice and review the stories of your past ex's mistakes, so I can learn from them and be the upgrade you've been looking for. × Amen. × (sumairu¶oetry)

14

As the flame flits about on the wick, my eyes are drawn to her silhouette dancing on the wall, summoning me to see her being. Everything my eyes beheld upon her was straight out of a poetry book. I read her stanzas— line after silhouetted line— she became lust to my tongue. I only recite her now.

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Nov 9, 2019

Nov 9, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC

Excerpt

As the flame flits about on the wick, my eyes are drawn to her silhouette dancing on the wall, summoning me to see her being. Everything my eyes beheld upon her was straight out of a poetry book. I read her stanzas— line after silhouetted line— she became lust to my tongue. I only recite her now.

9

Perpetual Motion The aerodynamics of your words slice through the atmosphere effortlessly. Their succession is perpetual, reaching each listener that your voice can touch. Your words are like the steady hands of a surgeon, operating—opening old wounds or closing new ones with precision. Your words are unbiased, unable to detect any and all human nuances; their only desire is to be heard, echoing in the silence, leaving a mark on every heart they find.

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Nov 7, 2019

Nov 7, 2019 at 8:57 AM UTC

Perpetual Motion

Perpetual Motion The aerodynamics of your words slice through the atmosphere effortlessly. Their succession is perpetual, reaching each listener that your voice can touch. Your words are like the steady hands of a surgeon, operating—opening old wounds or closing new ones with precision. Your words are unbiased, unable to detect any and all human nuances; their only desire is to be heard, echoing in the silence, leaving a mark on every heart they find.

5

My words don't Shake like William's, nor, do they Frost like Robert's. × My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's, nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's. × I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's, nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's. × My words are far from an Angel like Maya's, and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's. × Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me. × (sumairu•¶oetry)

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Nov 7, 2019

Nov 7, 2019 at 8:11 AM UTC

Self-deprecation Of A Poet

My words don't Shake like William's, nor, do they Frost like Robert's. × My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's, nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's. × I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's, nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's. × My words are far from an Angel like Maya's, and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's. × Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me. × (sumairu•¶oetry)

15

I thought that you loving me would be automatic, but when I read your label, I realized it said batteries not included.

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Nov 4, 2019

Nov 4, 2019 at 8:32 PM UTC

Batteries Not Included

I thought that you loving me would be automatic, but when I read your label, I realized it said batteries not included.

3