Making love, a sweaty pit stop between the sheets. Politicians, librarians, directors, janitors, authors, queens, kings, moms, you, me, All guilty of this bittersweet act of sticky significance. All willing to tangle our limbs every night.
If poems were *** then,I wouldn't be a ****** i would caress the letters fix a foreplay with title i would literally **** the words to give birth to soulful sentences if poems were *** I wouldn't be ******,still.
Its a bit different idea to show my love for poems. If there wasn't poem then where would my feelings disappear,I wonder !
It starts within like a wild wind Too powerful to contain with in It's like a chemical concoction Soon to hatch a reaction Comes naturally, like your better half attraction
Words spoken like a spell, personal,...so much as in detail It's your gift to Gods green earth, be it so ... It's magics birth.
Just something that was repeating in my mind. Thought I'd share .....
Eyelids drooping My body aches for respite, for rest Yet I still try my best To fight this weak human need Just so that I can see Through the darkness With weary eyes Your name Flash in a blur On my phone screen Just so that I can read Your words Hear your voice Your soft, low tones Echo in my head Just so that I can pretend You are here with me.
I miss you so much It is an ache that pains me more Than my lack of sleep Between those few hours of solace We have together Th ache grows Only temporarily subsided By the thought of you Lying awake, thinking of me too.
So I'll keep denying myself sleep Just to feel the familiar Rush of happiness Swelling up inside When I see your name Lighting up the long, cold nights.