Poetry happens,
only when he speaks.
Syllables dive,
bravely from his lips
creating words
captivating my heart.
I listen,
with every piece of me
I listen.
Ears
begging for those lips
to part,
and create the kind of
poetry
that has my soul sing.
Poetry happens,
only when he speaks.
YOU ARE READING
Paper Dates
PoetryThis text is purely a place for me to spill my poetry. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them. Poetry is not all love, or tragedy, or the anxious thoughts that keep you up at night. Poetry is a way for the heart to speak. I ho...
