Love’s a splinter, a shimmer, a shiver,
A quiver of gold in the gut of a river.
It’s a thief in the rafters, a laughter that lingers,
A bell in your chest rung by merciless fingers.
It slinks like silk, like milk on a wire,
A flick of a wick set to shadow and fire.
It gnaws at the edges, it etches the air,
A puzzle of pieces that were never quite there.
It’s honey and venom, a rhythm of stings,
A tangle of feathers, a choir of wings.
A howl in the hollow, a swallow of sun,
It’s begun, it’s begun—and it’s never begun.
It’s a lock with no key, it’s a sea without end,
A ripple, a riddle that you can’t apprehend.
It’s ink in the veins of a dream you can’t write,
A fight to the marrow, a flight through the night.
It’s a scaffold of sighs, a cry on the wind,
A hymn for the lonely, the holy, the sinned.
It’s the orbit of chaos, the storm in your chest,
The claw of a hawk in a silken nest.
Love is a hive, a dive into flame,
A shape-shifting shadow with no face or name.
It hums in your bones, it moans, it conspires,
A waxwork of whispers, a cathedral of fires.
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 5:39 AM UTC
Love’s a splinter, a shimmer, a shiver,
A quiver of gold in the gut of a river.
It’s a thief in the rafters, a laughter that lingers,
A bell in your chest rung by merciless fingers.
It slinks like silk, like milk on a wire,
A flick of a wick set to shadow and fire.
It gnaws at the edges, it etches the air,
A puzzle of pieces that were never quite there.
It’s honey and venom, a rhythm of stings,
A tangle of feathers, a choir of wings.
A howl in the hollow, a swallow of sun,
It’s begun, it’s begun—and it’s never begun.
It’s a lock with no key, it’s a sea without end,
A ripple, a riddle that you can’t apprehend.
It’s ink in the veins of a dream you can’t write,
A fight to the marrow, a flight through the night.
It’s a scaffold of sighs, a cry on the wind,
A hymn for the lonely, the holy, the sinned.
It’s the orbit of chaos, the storm in your chest,
The claw of a hawk in a silken nest.
Love is a hive, a dive into flame,
A shape-shifting shadow with no face or name.
It hums in your bones, it moans, it conspires,
A waxwork of whispers, a cathedral of fires.
this is an older poem so its a bit more surrealist and also draws more inspiration from my love for rap music.
This is also part 2 of my "love is a...." series I wrote early into my poetry journey.
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