Allow me to love you like a whimsical word,
One found in the margins of a dusty, old book
Uncommon, melodic, and rarely heard,
The kind that demands a second look.
I want to be the syllable that dances on your tongue,
A soft, phonetic secret that you keep,
Like a lyric from a song that’s yet to be sung,
Or a rhythm that stays while the world is asleep.
I’ll be the stardust in your everyday prose,
The unexpected spark in a quiet line,
Folding my heart where the sentence goes,
Until every letter is yours and mine.
Not a word of burden, or a word of routine,
But a word like luminous or serendipity,
Floating in the spaces and the quiet in-between,
A piece of pure magic in your reality.
So let me be spoken, or whispered, or read,
Let me be the meaning that you finally found,
A whimsical word that goes right to your head,
And lifts both your feet off the heavy ground.
Jan 3
Jan 3, 2026 at 1:10 PM UTC
Allow me to love you like a whimsical word,
One found in the margins of a dusty, old book
Uncommon, melodic, and rarely heard,
The kind that demands a second look.
I want to be the syllable that dances on your tongue,
A soft, phonetic secret that you keep,
Like a lyric from a song that’s yet to be sung,
Or a rhythm that stays while the world is asleep.
I’ll be the stardust in your everyday prose,
The unexpected spark in a quiet line,
Folding my heart where the sentence goes,
Until every letter is yours and mine.
Not a word of burden, or a word of routine,
But a word like luminous or serendipity,
Floating in the spaces and the quiet in-between,
A piece of pure magic in your reality.
So let me be spoken, or whispered, or read,
Let me be the meaning that you finally found,
A whimsical word that goes right to your head,
And lifts both your feet off the heavy ground.
A whimsical love