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#itwasbeautifulwhileitlasted
Have you ever? Loved so deep, that just being around that person maintained your inner peace? Have you ever? Cared so much, you'd carry your lover's burdens like luggage or a crutch? Have you ever? Looked into their eyes & felt your soul's poetic demise? Have you ever? Kissed them passionately long & get the same feeling as listening to an 80's love song? Have you ever Gazed at their smile & realizing, now this life is worth while? Have you ever been in love?... {RP}
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May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
the-rogue-poet
Have You Ever?
Have you ever? Loved so deep, that just being around that person maintained your inner peace? Have you ever? Cared so much, you'd carry your lover's burdens like luggage or a crutch? Have you ever? Looked into their eyes & felt your soul's poetic demise? Have you ever? Kissed them passionately long & get the same feeling as listening to an 80's love song? Have you ever Gazed at their smile & realizing, now this life is worth while? Have you ever been in love?... {RP}
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Nights of thinking alone, gathering my proofs, I’m still unsure you were real. I loved the sweet caress of your voice, the way your mouth shaped my name, your eyes hovering lazily over mine. I loved the soft touches and frenzied hands, as you carried and explored me, explored together in bed sheets and a summer night’s heat. Balcony doors embraced the ocean with open arms before us, the tingle of adventures together left tickling my skin. It was a night that brought so many gifts, so many tender looks and sprawling affections laying waste to the floor. But it was a night left to my fantasy. No videos, photographs, Facebook statuses or afterwords of gratitude. A night left as bundles of touches and portions of tangled desire beautifully coiled like ropes inside my head. I need those proofs. I need to know that love-nest even happened. That it wasn’t some sickened dream I had, whilst I cried in bed alone that it would soon all end; a frayed and ***** heap of pity left in place of you. My heart would conjure anything to protect me from you. My heart would drill holes in those fragments if it meant lies from you, if it meant little pieces of love you could hurt me with. My heart is grateful for what you showed me, the love you painted with me, for me, over me. My heart is still in love with the times we shared, the memories that glide around silkily in my sleep; but my heart is also still frightened, of you. And what power I gave you, over me, to make me weep and search for evidence like this. To finally know you loved me, or not. Because that is what it needs doesn’t it? Prove that it needs to, that it’s real. Were you real beneath my fingers?
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Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
tamara-fraser
Proofs Of That Night
Nights of thinking alone, gathering my proofs, I’m still unsure you were real. I loved the sweet caress of your voice, the way your mouth shaped my name, your eyes hovering lazily over mine. I loved the soft touches and frenzied hands, as you carried and explored me, explored together in bed sheets and a summer night’s heat. Balcony doors embraced the ocean with open arms before us, the tingle of adventures together left tickling my skin. It was a night that brought so many gifts, so many tender looks and sprawling affections laying waste to the floor. But it was a night left to my fantasy. No videos, photographs, Facebook statuses or afterwords of gratitude. A night left as bundles of touches and portions of tangled desire beautifully coiled like ropes inside my head. I need those proofs. I need to know that love-nest even happened. That it wasn’t some sickened dream I had, whilst I cried in bed alone that it would soon all end; a frayed and ***** heap of pity left in place of you. My heart would conjure anything to protect me from you. My heart would drill holes in those fragments if it meant lies from you, if it meant little pieces of love you could hurt me with. My heart is grateful for what you showed me, the love you painted with me, for me, over me. My heart is still in love with the times we shared, the memories that glide around silkily in my sleep; but my heart is also still frightened, of you. And what power I gave you, over me, to make me weep and search for evidence like this. To finally know you loved me, or not. Because that is what it needs doesn’t it? Prove that it needs to, that it’s real. Were you real beneath my fingers?
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