#poemsaboutlove

[21stcenturysucks]

I was not made for hookup culture. Love me for an eternity or do not touch me at all.

[stantheanomaly]

I write with the same hand I hold her with. Maybe that's why there's an essence of her in every poem I write.

- Suvrahadip Ghosh, Her Essence

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[sapioosexual]

[harisafzal]

[aadyaagnihotri]

[flower-faerie-world]

Do you have any idea how much you mean to me? How much it terrifies me to think I'll have to live without you? Every night we hold each other, and every day we long for being together.

[letters-toyourheart]

"Are we what we do with time, or are we what time does with us?"

Mahmoud Darwish, 'In The Presence Of Absence'

[writinginthenight]

I don’t like being alone.

I like feeling loved.

I like the feeling of knowing warmth.

I want to sleep next to you on a Thursday night.

I’ve always been too much, it’s strange to feel like the right amount.

Will god take you from me too?

Lord Please don’t.

He gave me you just like he gave me the others. What if he takes you away from me?

How can I trust you when the lord dictates what happens to us?

Maybe that’s a misunderstanding of scripture.

Forgive me.

Give me time, I’m so hurt all the time.

Forgive me for my lack of trust.

Still I savor every moment with you on the off chance it will be the last.

I carve the memory of your love into my essence so that I can remember you forever.

As skittish and paranoid as I am, Know how appreciated you are. I do not take you for granted.

If you read this sleep well and pet chaska for me.

And God willing on Thursday night you’ll be with me and I will savor every moment of restful sleep I get.

[leonieanderson]

And in July, I wanted to be touched tenderly. In the same way that heat rests on blooms.

From ‘Summertime Adventures’ by Leonie Anderson.

[l-michalska-writer]

I lost myself

in loving you

and now I have to find

the person I lost in the process

~~~

[letterstomonkey]

Breakfast or Lunch

I love you like breakfast while loathing you like lunch;

Craving clarity with my first bite of today, a blend

of your strawberries melted in my honey, granola crunch

Residual and golden, how you and the morning transcend.

A swift, morning apple is my foundation for the day,

As a tight grip on your gaze starts me off the beaten path.

Surrounded by fine art, yet my hands beg me to portray

Your hands cupping coffee, as steam rises from the birdbath.

So scatter my remains about the whole backyard by noon,

As if I am your coffee grounds– a mess made just for you.

Slowly sip my ashes, while you reminisce on the moon

How I held you close like she did, until breakfast time was through.

How I love you like my whole life preceding you was blind,

So I welcome you to stay for lunch, should you feel so inclined.

[21stcenturysucks]

museum of failure or gallery of trying?

[stantheanomaly]

Love. Love is when a poet stops writing the poem, and instead becomes one.

- Suvrahadip Ghosh, Poets and poem

[theoncehopefulone]

"While many fall for the allure of physicality, I found myself captivated by the ethereal connection of our souls, ignited by the tender gaze of those mesmerizing eyes. In that fleeting moment, our spirits intertwined, pulling me into a realm of love beyond the confines of mere flesh."

— My head past midnight

[harisafzal]

[aadyaagnihotri]

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.