A tilt of the head, a feline grace,
The quietest storm in a crowded space.
He doesn’t demand the air or the light,
He just holds the gravity, steady and tight.
Two crescents bloom when the shadows part,
A clockwork mind and a marble heart.
He counts the beats that the others might miss,
The bridge between the roar and the abyss.
With eyes like flint and a voice like silk,
A gentle strength of a different ilk;
He leads with a whisper, sharp and refined,
The youngest anchor that the stars could find.
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Comments3
I would say this is similar to a love poem, no? If it is a continuation of the one before, if you didnt know, you are able to classify your poetry so more people can find it! Amazing work.
A poetic riddle of astrological proportions and amorous intent. Beautifully presented in soothing rhyme it flows like the procession of the stars. Lovely
Beautiful!!
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