You're more beautiful because your love isn't postcard-perfect-it's calloused hands holding coffee too hot, saying stay without saying. Because it lingers like perfume on my pillow long after you've left,when you slept on my couch. Because when you look at me, the room quiets-like even dust stops spinning. Your love's the kind that doesn't bloom, it to. And wins,my heart skips beats to the wind.
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Author:
ROSHI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 30th, 2025 05:05
- Category: Love
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
Beauty comes in many forms and is seen through different eyes in a changing kaleidoscope of colors. Nicely written
Thank you as always!
My pleasure
Wonderful and tender write, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you
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