The poet writes on how it started
with a little white lie,
you know... the kind
when he says
she was so fine,
but she never
even said hello
Still.

I came to see
that love
is a wildfire,
making ashes
of the past
While clearing
those places
in the heart
where tomorrow
can grow.

I would count
the echoes
of her heartbeat
as she sleeps,
as if each one
was another promise
Cupid did keep
& when she awakens,
I fall again
into the shelter
of her love.

she would heal me
over time
not with a word
or a touch
but
by being there
where the tears start
& no one else
ever cared
to hear.

I searched for
any hidden meanings
behind
her Mona Lisa smile
but all I found
was the loneliness
she had forgotten
when ever
I was around.

I covet
the feel of her hair
brushing my cheek
as we kiss,
I yearn
for the warmth of her
when the sunsets...
but mostly,
I cry
for the sound
of her heart
to help.

#poetry #micropoetry #Sanguine

it was the softness
of her #flesh
that cried out to me,
daring me
to offer a caress
like that of the wind,
a silent touch
that passes
like a dream
& ends
all too fast.

I was crazy
in love with being in love,
but as time slipped away,
I found myself
staring at a mirror,
at a man broken
by too much time
at play.

it's not
what love forgot
that grieves his soul.
no,
it's what it remembers
every time
she walks by
with his heart in her pocket
just waiting
to be discarded.

he'll delve
into her memories
for comfort.
their first hello,
that long kiss,
after their hearts
were reborn...
everything made life
a gift
before the angels
took her home.

it was the wind
that made her appear
to be like Medusa
as her hair danced
in the air
like a seductress
waiting to claim
us all.