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Table of Contents — Section 2: Falling In, Falling Hard

(Italicized titles are prose reflections or story passages.)

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→Section 1: The Spark & The Pull
→Section 3: The Struggle & The Tension
→Section 4: The Breaking Point
→Section 5: Grief & Longing
→Section 6: Acceptance & Transformation

Section 2: Falling In, Falling Hard 

Vignette: A poem written for me, received in whispers beneath the stars.

Let’s go walk.
From Quebec to the sky falls, we could talk.
Let’s just kiss.
Sweet soft touch under the stars, whispering me your wish.
Let’s make love.
Even through a thousand imaginations we go, slowly and deeply, it’s worth.

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Seeing Her in the Light

(Light does not change what is there. It changes what we see.)

She had always been radiant, but it wasn’t the glow of beauty alone. It was something else—something that could not be named, only felt.

Light is not just brightness. It is revelation. It does not add; it uncovers.

And so, I began to see—not just the way her hair caught the sun, not just the way shadows shaped her face, but something deeper, something beneath.

The way light turned her into something infinite. The way it touched her like it had touched everything before her—water, marble, silk, the delicate petals of a flower before it falls.

Maybe that’s what love is. Not the thing itself, but the light that reveals it.

(And once you have seen, you cannot unsee.)

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Where Light Meets Depth

Halos in the sky with angels in the eyes,
light reveals what lies below.

A woman with a glow.

Pure images corrupted by the mind—
a moment to reflect,
an avoidance to neglect.

A figure of attention,
she flows like a tsunami’s direction;
her form consumes the air,
waves make decisions.

What is blue is a motion that descends in you.
To breathe is to die to emotions spilling into you.
To suffocate is to see the truth.

As the sea consumes, so will dreams come true.
A rising tide in sync with the moon,
memories die as something sinks—
a vision in darkness as hopelessness lays to rest.

The day we met, my soul swam to depths.

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Spectacles of Love

(romantic poetry about love, passion, and devotion)

Spectacular spectacles with golden halo frames
sit upon your gracefully sculpted face.
The lenses, as if magnifying the windows to your soul,
are like a psychic’s crystal ball.
A vision with you—
you’re an angel.

Hoop-beaded earrings adorn your face
as your hair enchants,
dancing above your eyes.
It’s a sight deeper than the skies on a dark night,
a vision that’s divine.

Away from city lights, you shine—
the only source needed for one to stay alive.
You’re a bright light,
a wish upon the stars.
A shooting star with pinpoint accuracy,
a dart that aims at my heart.
A bull’s eye.

A cowboy’s pleasure ride.
And a woman I’d never hide.
If you can bless me like you bless the heavens,
my wrongs would be righted
and my soul amended.

A long life awaits
with our two waists connected.
A magical ride no longer pretended.
My love for you—
something with no beginning,
and never ending.

An eternity hug.
A deep love as if coming from above.

I will always love you.

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Vintage Love

She says I’m old but new.
Outdated but vintage—
a sought-out commodity,
a useful thing.
Not a bad thing.

The word old sometimes stings;
maybe it’s because it reminds us of the clock.
If we could tick forever,
we’d tock until a clock was no longer needed.

Tick tock until my heart drops.
Tick tock I chase your gaze
until the early morning knock—
the sound that awakens me from a dream,
so that I can keep dreaming of you.

We can play all day until the sun drops,
and take breathing breaks during our night talks.

Some days around you feel like time stops—
days my eyes feel like they can see ultraviolet rays.

Days that penetrate my soul
and give me a hint of what life is all about,
like when love doves play
and have their way.

Those days remind me of the younger times too—
when I imagined what you would look like,
and how we would spend our future days.

I promise to never jester our lives
like some cheap game of checkers,
only enhance the times we get to spend together.

My weight by your side
to be light as a feather,
and heavy like a giant stone—
for the days you want me home.

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Rock, Paper, Scissors of Love

Rock, paper, scissors – I shoot my shot.
I gave you paper to burn, but you kept it.
A love note about a yearn.
A desire to twist and turn.

If you chose rock,
I would’ve wrapped you and took you away—
thoughts of us as one weight
tumbling under sheets,
as our hearts beat,
as dreams become blissful screams.

If you chose scissors,
I would’ve given myself to you
in a thousand pieces,
with a thousand cuddles,
to merge our bodies into a jigsaw puzzle.

But you chose paper,
the substrate of our fate.
Emotions spread like lotions.
I could feel you in every note.

The music that played between us
took us deeper and closer.

You were the scent my nose chose to roam in.
Your smiles melted me.
I felt chosen.

I kept you inside in every moment.
I died and came back to life when I met you.
You were the sudden change people talk about
when something great happens.

An epiphany felt deep.
A desire to be understood.
I dared to care.
I found a heart to give,
and a love to tend to.

I’m a love you can light like a candle.
A fire to burn when you yearn.
A flame to stoke for smoke and chokes.
And your air to breathe when you cannot speak.

From the first time I laid eyes on you,
I knew you were the one to run to.
A love that came true,
and I will always love you.

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Paper Planes and the Rain 

I could hold you while I fold you,
take our time in positions to help you fly for miles.
Would you like to fly high right away?

Or would you prefer the low glide our first day, 
and be close to the surface, 
to feel the wind’s friction upon your wings?

I can push slow at first,
see how the wind feels, 
and then go hard when you’re ready to soar for more.
I can even be your wind if you let me.

We can fly in any weather, you know.
I prefer the rain when it’s nice and wet,
like the feeling when lovers fly like jets.
We can even catch the raindrops, 
one at a time, and take our time.

And if the weather turns, 
and what was wet now burns, 
we’ll make another plane.
One capable of any range, 
no matter how strange it’s made.

High or low, slow or fast – 
we’ll make our love, 
built to last.

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A Love to Savor

(Love, like poetry, does not always reveal itself all at once. It unfolds, line by line, moment by moment, lingering between what is said and what is left unspoken.)

By now, she had read my words. Or at least, some of them.

And by now, I knew she felt it too.

It wasn’t something that needed to be spoken aloud. Mutual love is never announced—it simply begins to exist, like a season changing, like the slow shift of dusk into night.

I saw it in the way she looked at me now—not as a question, but as an answer. I felt it in the space between us, in the way absence no longer felt uncertain.

She had accepted my words, though I did not know how many she had read. I did not know which ones lingered with her, which ones she traced with her fingers, which ones she returned to in quiet moments when she thought I wasn’t watching.

Perhaps she had read the one where I told her that love, real love, does not vanish.

Perhaps she had not read that one yet.

Perhaps she never would.

(But she was still here. And that was enough.)

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Marinated Moments

Do you remember the day I smiled and winked
and asked what was on the agenda?
You winked back with a splendid smile.
A Splenda smile so sweet it was like a treat.

One where I imagined a feast and what to eat.
I wondered if we could balance our hearts and make a tart.
All we’d need is a little juice from fruit
as we dance and enhance each other’s parts.

But you don’t need me as I need you.
You’re the stuff that keeps taste buds supplied
with your magic eyes and curvy lines.

I wish I could marinate in you after making a soup of you,
then merge our scents while I capture breaths of you.

If only we could rest in the zest
until noon comes true.
I’d indulge in your sounds
until morning comes through.

Forever yours I twirl and curl, in heat I bake.
To be yours in future days.
And whenever you need to eat a cake.

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Picture Frames and Bullet Trains

We could take pics while we ride.
Capture landscapes and frame them high.
Oh wow this train flies.
It’s so seamless. It flows.
From coast to coast, it will go.

It’s as if we glide.
Two pairs of eyes, absorbing the miles.
With shifty feet and candy sweets.
But nothing can be sweeter than you..

Not even a resting sun with its power to turn green leaves gold,
or the earth, which can turn dirt to jewels,
could replicate the wonders of your essence.
Your very presence is precious..

More than any stone or royal throne.
More than any soul the world has ever known.
The image of you is what I wish to frame.
Together alone, on this magic train.

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Captive Admiration 

(romantic poems about longing, admiration, and desire)

You’re always a sight for sore eyes.
I felt like scooping you up and stealing you out of your seat today.
But my mind told me I couldn’t, 
and I feared if I asked you to run away with me, 
you wouldn’t.
So like a thief, 
all I could think of was how to hold you and get away.

How could I capture this priceless presence, 
this intangible essence,
and keep her safe in my heart—
a vault for her feelings, her forever-space—
kept close and embraced?
How could I bulldoze through a few brave souls 
who might get in my way
when my legs go limp at the sight of her face?
I can hardly breathe, let alone sprint…

But I got to see you today,
a day seldom known for making ice cubes melt in a blizzard land
where penguins and polar bears swim.
You could melt me in any weather, 
no matter how cold the void is,
no matter how low the sun glows.

As I awaken from a dream, 
I remember to be a good thief and take what I can get.
Your face, a memory I can never forget.
Your hand, clasped into mine.
A vision of you and I together, for a very long time…

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Playfulness and Attraction

(Quebec. Spring. A place where the city opens wide, where the river stretches far, where lovers walk without knowing if they are walking toward something or away. Time should have moved slower. But instead, it slipped through our fingers like water, like silk, like something that refused to be held for too long.)

There are moments when love is not just felt—it is spoken. And once spoken, it cannot be undone.

We sat overlooking the city, somewhere high, somewhere open, where the air felt lighter than what was between us.

She was beautiful in the way that people are beautiful when they are about to say something that might change everything.

I told her.

And she told me.

We spoke of things we had only allowed to exist in silence until now. Of moments that should not have meant anything, but did. Of glances that had lasted too long, of words exchanged that had never truly left us.

And then, she tried to pull away.

She told me she could not. That this—whatever this was—could not be.

I remember the way she looked at me then, as if she was already mourning something that had not yet ended.

I did not know, then, that when I left, she would cry. That saying no to me would feel like refusing a lover she loved and still loves.

I did not know, then, that this moment would be the crack through which everything would spill.

(But love has a way of escaping its boundaries, of existing where it is not supposed to. And so, I wrote. And I kept writing. And before she even knew it, my words belonged to her.)

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Held in Your Hands

If I was a napkin,
I would always be close—
found in coffee shops,
restaurants,
or a home.
I would always be near
to clean your lips,
or catch your tears.

As gentle as the fabric,
is how my heart mends for you—
forever soft
in your hands.

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A Love That Stays

I don’t think the calm I feel around you will ever go away.
It’s the only time I’m at peace.

A coffee, a smile, a wishful longing.
A letter, an exchange, a burning desire.
A touch, a hug, a passionate embrace.
A kiss, a grip, an acted desire.

A love that lingers, a calm that stays.

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Waiting, Wishing, and Holding On

(Some people change you with their presence. Some, with their absence. She had done both.)

I was not the same man I had been before her.

It wasn’t just love. It was something deeper, something that reshaped the way I saw the world. It was in the way I spoke, the way I listened, the way I began to feel time differently—stretched between moments when she was near and moments when she was not.

I had known attraction before. I had even known love. But nothing had ever drawn me in like this. Nothing had ever felt this inevitable.

She did not need to say much—her voice was soft, unhurried, like a secret carried by the wind. But when she spoke, I listened. Every word mattered. Every pause had weight.

I had never known silence to hold so much meaning.

Even when we were apart, it felt as though we were speaking. A message yet to be sent, a letter yet to be read—it was all part of the conversation, all part of the way she existed in my thoughts.

She changed me, and she knew it.

(And yet, even knowing, she said nothing of it. Perhaps she knew I had already given her every word that mattered.)

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Patient Dreams

I want to wait for you a long time.
That way there’s never a wrong time.
So that I can be with you a long time.

And in the meantime,
I’ll have you in my mind.
Taste, feel, smell. Spell.

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Forever Close, Little Dove

I wish I could ease your pain—
snatch it, and blow it away.
Protect you from the storm that came—
forever your shield, I pray.

Devoted, I’m here to stay—
patient, I’ll wait the days.
On mornings when the sunlight is dim,
it’s only time before it shines again.

The rain, the wind—they’re all akin,
like movements that stir worlds within.
The water, the air, the breath, the spin—
together they gift the life we’re in.

If I had magic, I would cast the spells—
to give darkness farewell,
to leave us alone.

And if darkness should speak,
know its days will be thin.
The feelings will pass—
they are not meant to last.

Forever close, little dove—
my heart resides within you.

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You, My Forever

You are the magic moment –
the stoppage of time when a new light comes to life.
Without you, I’m lost.

Cold like a frosty window that covers sight,
you are the warmth that melts my vision.
You’re the element that allows me to see – the essence I breathe. 

Without you, life within me would cease to be.
You are the love I vow to keep – the only dream I dare to seek.

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Sensuality, Passion, and the Body

(Desire does not begin in the body. It begins in the mind—in the space between a look, a thought, an unspoken promise.)

I wanted to be close to her.

Not just in the way of lovers, but in the way of knowing someone so deeply that distance no longer mattered. I wanted to trace the outline of her thoughts, follow the curve of her silences, let my breath sync with hers even when she was not there.

She was careful with her words, but her presence spoke louder than anything she said.

The way she held herself, the way she tilted her head when listening—the way I could feel her watching me even when I wasn’t looking. We were drawn together, not by choice, but by something older, something already written.

I had touched her in words long before I ever touched her in body. In the messages we sent, the letters I wrote, the space we filled with everything we could not yet act upon.

Even now, I wasn’t sure if I was remembering her or imagining her, if she had been here or if I had simply wanted her to be.

(Either way, she was close. And I was already lost.)

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Condensed Hearts

As a cold cup condensates wetting my tips,
so did my skin when it touched your lips.
So did the air when we softly kissed,
and so did my soul when we stopped to resist.
Your breath is the mist that orchids miss,
the warmth that brings me back from abyss.
The sound that hums from deep underground,
the pulse that continues when you’re not around.

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Love in Motion, Love in Time

(Love is not still. It does not sit quietly in the past, nor does it wait patiently in the future. It moves. It breathes. It unfolds in the present, in the weight of words, in the spaces between them.)

Some loves are felt in moments—flashes of longing, brief encounters that burn and fade. But real love moves.

It bends time, stretches it. A single conversation can feel like a lifetime, and a lifetime can pass in a single conversation.

There were times with her where I felt outside of time completely. We spoke not to fill silence, but to understand. We unraveled thoughts, followed them through winding paths, letting words take shape before we even knew what they meant.

I could have spoken to her forever.

There is something sacred about being known—about speaking and feeling heard, about knowing someone is listening not just to your words, but to the rhythm of your thoughts.

Even when we were silent, we were still speaking.

Perhaps that is what love really is—not a thing to be held or contained, but a current that moves between two people, an unseen thread pulling them toward the same horizon.

Some loves are like stars—fixed in place, distant, something to look at but never touch. But ours was something different. Ours was a river, something in motion, something inevitable.

(And no matter how far it flowed, I knew—deep in the current of it—there was no turning back.)

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Ebb and Flow of Desire

(romantic poems about passion, longing, and the ebb and flow of desire)

Hard to look away. 
We’ve all seen a face too beautiful to resist. 
It’s like an itch that persists. 
Can’t look away.
Our eyes were meant to see, but as time continues, 
to observe starts to flirt with a dare if you stare.
With each passing second, you risk exposure —
one look too long can turn into an uneasy suspicion.
But every now and then, a pair of eyes will match —
a silent conversation and a surge waiting to be heard.
An emotional eruption and an urge to get closer.

She rattles my soul with her smile.
I’m shaken to look.
I’m stuck. My legs feel caught in the muck.
I can only absorb and take form as words disappear and a sculpture appears.
Make a cast of me where I stand if you please.
Take a piece of me. 
Make a wish and I will obey your command.
I will go where you go or stand alone. 

A hold gets broken as words are spoken. 
Sounds are found and felt deep beneath.

I am a cupid without a bow with only arrows to throw —
my reach is limited if you can’t complete me with your bow.

If stones had the same reach as my arrow,
I would crush your heart with my throw.
Not to deliver pain or a victory in vain —
but to crumble your heart so our rubble comes together
like the intricate grains of sand on a beach.

A majestic landscape where sadness evaporates 
as we ebb and flow within water’s reaches.

As the tides ride our sides,
we’ll bind together like surface tension and take hold as nature intended.
When feet will walk on beaches and imprints deform our breech,
we’ll simply form and renew as waters rise and back down again.
We’re more powerful when we blend. No need to bend for another anymore.
We go with the flow and will always mend.

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I Want to Talk With You for Hours

I want to talk with you for hours,
until you say something I don’t like.
That way I can stop thinking about you.

Either that,
or long enough until the spell is broken,
or my heart is broken.

I would take anything
instead of waiting a lifetime.

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The Dual of Eyes

Look at you,
looking at me with those sheltered eyes.

You can almost hide –
a slight raised eyebrow,
a fencer’s high guard.

You’re capable of delivering a final blow,
but I think you’re bluffing.

I could close the distance while you’re thinking,
use the element of surprise –
but I’ll continue watching.

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Black Cat’s Spell 

Bad luck, they’d say.
A black cat as she’s dressed in black.
A thing to keep away like a shark in shallow bays.
But not me. I want to keep her close.
Like a rose and summer cloves,
I want my nose to roam the moans of her,
and carve a path to wishful places where our love can last forever.

Just two souls alone snuggled peacefully in a home.

Her long black hair ties back like a trellis,
with two golden bows looking up to heaven.
Her skin against her clothes is a perfect balance.
She’s the fire to my air, igniting something deep within.
A spark of magic that keeps me in a trance.
And like an artist’s blank canvas meeting ink from a pen,
she conjures up visions of worlds that enchant.
You can look but beware—
a black magic trap set for those who take naps.
She’s the love potion of witches with hats
and a cat with a knack for secrets and spells.
But who cares when love is in the air?
She’s a love I wish to dare and forever keep in care.

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Love’s Atmosphere

(Some nights, love does not wait. It does not move slow. It does not ask for permission. It fills the air, thick and heavy where goosebumps sweat pressing against the skin, against the pulse, against the spaces where restraint is the only thing left between two bodies dripping from affection.)

We didn’t intend for it to happen as we were happy being close where innocence is welcomed.

But passion does not care for timing, nor does it move in measured steps. It does not wait for the right moment—it creates it. Passion seeks to release the tension. Passion is tension. There’s no escaping. Two souls in deep need to express themselves where words cannot communicate.

We kissed against the wall, against the window, against the breath of the night pressing in. The room was no longer a room. It was something else, something untamed. Furniture moved without meaning. Chaotic movements yet controlled. Hands found skin without question. The air was thick, the silence broken only by the sound of breath and the rhythm of bodies moving without direction.

I let her feel the heat on her cheeks. Her heavy breathing almost consumed me. Not just the heat of my body, but the fire that had been building for what felt like lifetimes. She trembled in controlled ecstasy and fought the urge to consume me. I attempted to eat her flesh, her salty skin drifted my soul to majestic seas where dreams of adventure and riches felt within reach. 

We kissed in a way that was not meant to stop.

Hands traced paths that had not been followed before – uncharted territories directed by the north star where zenith sees the world and the little dots of peace where love is unfurled. Heat met heat. Skin met skin.

And yet, we did not make love.

Not because we didn’t want to. 

But because something held us at the edge—something that made restraint its own kind of agony, its own kind of worship.

Our bodies trembled, breath tangled between us strangling our trust. We pulled each other close, then closer still, as if we could fall into each other without falling too far.

We were at the edge of something infinite, something omnipresent.

And though we did not cross it, we knew—when love fills the air like that, when it becomes something felt in the body, in the walls, in the space where two people have nearly become one—it never truly disappears. It lingers. It remains.

(And in that moment, in that room, love was everywhere.)

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Anchored Love and Soaring Dreams

When life feels heavy like an anchored ship, you make me rise like a tide and kite.
When dreams of treasures flirt with an end, you remind me feathers can travel like jets.
Whether floating on a breeze or in the deepest murky sea, you never tried to despair the air I needed to breathe. You always cared.

Some days I wondered if you were real, 
or deep asleep in a dream where lovers sometimes meet.
How can you exist when the world’s a hit and miss? 
A traveler from another world.
A mermaid from the abyss.
A creature in a romantic play. 
Something with a special way.
A prisoner I am as I can’t look away.

How can you be so loving and pure when the world has brought you hurt?
Maybe it’s when we’re hurt that the best comes out to bless.

You can now rest as we caress and heal the mess.

When we’re together, there’s no more test. 
My sweet love, and all the rest, I’m always close. 
Your pillow is my chest. 

You are my anchored love that lies deep beneath. 
A vision from above when I’m deep asleep.

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Night Storms and Whispered Desires

You were the storm—
the lightning that strikes when daylight fades away,
the bolt which Zeus threw my way.
Tremors were felt, drawing attention—
the intimate touch Earth expresses when elements align.

The moon witnessed us in silence,
through the open space of leaves on trees.
Its glow allowed our lips to roam,
and for moans to grow among flowers
resting from daylight’s pressure.

Our tongues splashed in darkness,
with scents of incense.
The water from our breaths infused with juice from fruits,
delivering sweetness—
a delicious treat,
as skin and salt brewed passionate affection.

You felt my pulse as you rested on my hips,
and I felt your bottoms
with grips that would make peaches drip.

Holding you was the best part of the day—
the night where we could escape.
Darkness prevented us from running away.
All we could do was hold still—
a comfort we called home.

We whispered our naughty little secrets and wishes,
even though no one was around.
It’s as if we were shy—
a lie, since we expressed our desires.

When it was cold, we were the fire.
When it was hot, we stripped attire,
saving summer’s clothes
from heat and intimate sweat.

And when the night called for our eyes
to sleep through waking dreams,
new worlds revealed themselves—
one where we could forever be.

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Intensity and Release

(Some things can be held back. But not forever. Not this.)

The weight of it had been building for too long. A force growing in the silence, in the spaces between glances, in the unspoken ache that had made every meeting feel like a quiet war.

We had fought it. Or maybe we had only pretended to.

It had never been a matter of if, only when.

The last time, we held back. But love does not stay confined. Passion does not obey. Desire, once awakened, does not forget itself.

This time, we were past words, past patience, past the illusion of control. There was no more waiting. No more pretending.

The moment did not ask for permission. It crashed down, like a tide too long withheld, like something that had been owed to the body, to the soul, since the beginning.

It was not gentle. It was not slow.

It was everything at once—breath and hands, heat and hunger, restraint turned to ruin.

There had never been another way. There had only been this.

(And now, there was no turning back.)

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Where Wolves Feast

Two souls of vigor seek desperate measures.
A pair of eyes whisper to come nearer.
A pair of thighs clench to grip tighter.

Hot images in mirrors reflect fire,
as exchanges of heat meet burning desires.
Bodies warm and skins set ablaze,
like leaves disappearing in a friction’s fray.

No force halts the intimate exchange,
as howling wolves feast and play in the shade.
As the night eases, memories are made.

Love is released while others swallow pain.
A cycle repeats until souls find peace.
Passion is a moment, a feeling that will fade.

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(Some connections are not forged—they are remembered. Felt in texture, known in shelter, carried in tides. This is how fate touches us, wordlessly.)

Fate – Felt Inn Waves

Felt—
like the fabric—
the texture I take for granted,
smooth as silk on skin—
the magic of fibers within,
you flow. 

Inn—
a shelter without the exchange of silver,
without old men 
weighing worth on tarnished scales,
who strip dignity from hardworking hands.
Troubled by a play. And fate.
You are where my heart roams—
an inn, a home, a shelter, an escape. 

Waves—
like the liquid known to cradle life,
which also strips it away when navigated 
without grace,
or by the cruel hands of fate,
is delivered and communicated
through vibrations felt deep—
in and out of hearts,
until the percussions subside,
wither, hide, or fade.

Fate—woven in fabric, sheltered in arms, flowing in waves.

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A Midnight Kiss

A night of bliss.
Internal thoughts dance as bodies twist.
Friction on skin as moonlight dims.
Heat meets sweat as love is made.
Fire mingles with wetness and breaths.
Sounds sink deep where memories are kept.
Old wounds heal souls who have wept.
Spring renews on passionate nights. 
Flowers bloom when temperatures are right.
Feelings sweeten when emotions are ripe.  
What will be true is the love you have felt.
Wounds heal as broken hearts renew. 

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The Defiant and the Devoted

(Some loves ask for permission. Others do not.)

Let them doubt. Let them disapprove. Let them cast their stones, their judgments, their quiet disapproval wrapped in words unspoken.

It does not change what is true.

Love does not need their acceptance. It does not wait for the world to make room for it. It exists because it was always meant to. Because something this pure, this undeniable, cannot be anything less than sacred.

They can call it reckless. They can call it wrong. But they do not know what it means to be moved by something greater than themselves. To see something rare, something worthy, and vow to protect it.

I do not love with conditions. I do not love in halves.

I love as the earth holds the rivers, as the sky carries the stars—without hesitation, without apology, without need for permission.

And if love is something to defend, then I will defend it.

If it is something to bear, then I will bear it.

If it is something to vow, then let my words be eternal:

This love is mine to honor. And honor it, I will.

(Not because I must, but because it deserves to be.)

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Defiant Love

(romantic poems about defiant love, unshakable devotion, and timeless passion)

Who cares what they’ll say.
Everyone with an opinion.
They’ll pick and choose which news to snooze,
and boost the ones they want to noose.

A bunch of pretenders acting like defenders.
A bunch of chickens fluffing their feathers.

Rolling eyes and colored dice,
who knows which number lands in sight?
An ace of spades to sadden days?
Or a pair of hearts for kings and queens?

Merry Christmas and Halloween.
Leave us alone and let us dream.

Our past times were delicious as sipping wine
under grape vines in summer’s light 
with charcuterie boards and never bored.
When I’m with you, no sorrow or plight,
just a soul happy to be alive.

I’d carry you until my face turns blue.
Until all the hues of you melt in my body,
so that wherever I go, you’d always be
buried deep within my bones.
Always close to home.

You and I on a path that flows.
Like ancient rivers where old gold shimmers.
Being close to you has more wealth
than all the earth’s rivers.

My only wish – our love to last a magical distance.
As far as rainbows go when light and rain remain.
Our love – never to be tainted by another’s paint.

I don’t care if I sound vain
when I say you and I are what love is all about.
I’ve seen the droughts. I’ve felt the doubts.
But you? You’re as true as all the moons

before the world ever met you.
A soul seldom born as the world keeps score.
A story of ancient folklore.
A thousand words and a million more.
An essence spoken of for centuries.
That is what you mean to me.
You are that precious person times infinite.

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Eternal Oath

You let me in and I took advantage of your skin.
Is that how you felt it?
Do you regret what was given
and kept the night we met?

My words, I meant them.
What you gave is a gift,
a blessing I will always cherish
deep inside my bones,
where marrow meets blood,
where life felt light,
where my eyes gained sight.

You gave me redemption with your love
and trust in me.
You are pure love manifested.
A time-tested benediction.
An innocence spoken of in past centuries.
A flame, which keeps me warm
no matter how battle torn.

You’re better than a 1,000 best of me.
My promise to you, an eternity.
I’ll repeat my oath infinitely
so you never forget what you mean to me.

I didn’t deserve your honor,
but know that I will forever be your armor.
A shield to block out stones and arrows
from any beast or enemy.
And a sword to kill whatever ill will
aims at your soul.
Forever close when you need me.

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The Map in Her Smile

There she sat smiling on the bed. A map of the world lay behind her on the wall, her grin stretching from Madagascar to Myanmar. Between her eyes on the map was the island of Diego Garcia, a place I once spent three months as a merchant mariner. 

Today, my eyes were lost at sea, drifting in the blue of her eyes. Her smile reminded me of the warm summers just 7° south of the equator, though her warmth was greater. The white of her teeth gleamed like the snow one might find in Antarctica – the deep southern hemisphere where tears freeze in lonesome fear.

And here she was – my world before me. The soul I’d travel the murkiest sea for. Her love radiated brighter than the trials of a sailor lost at sea, where crabs claim feet and fishes feast.

Her big eyes, I felt, could read my mind – penetrate me with emotions of love. Listening to her talk was like the feeling of cool air on a hot day – relief. Just one little kiss and she could quench my thirst. One little wink and the air from her lashes could resuscitate me from despair. 

I wonder what she was feeling at that moment. I must have looked like someone seeing a tropical beach for the first time – a face of awe and bliss. She carried on, talking about the cardinal she had painted in oil. 

The vibrant red of the bird perched on a branch as if observing me, warning me to care for her, justly for eternity. She was the red I would bleed for if my fate demanded it – a challenge my heart would leap to meet – a noble truth few men ever get to live for. 

I was learning her ways like an old junkyard dog learning new tricks – her voice, the silent whistle which controlled my bones should she weep or need me. 

Have you ever listened to someone you admired while they shared their passion? Did you notice how you absorbed them? It’s a moment you learned something. It’s an open experience as everything you see, hear, and feel is imprinted upon your soul. 

I learned the basics of oil painting that day – from sketching an outline to layering the dark colors first. She mentioned that oil paint was forgiving, and that layers could be added for refinement. Apparently oil paints adhere to each other better than acrylic, allowing remedies.

Who knew painting could teach you how to think, feel, and see things so that others could see, feel and think things – a glimpse of the world through your eyes. What a gift to bestow onto another – internal images manifest for souls to digest. Her essence allowed me to see things.  

I glanced at the map behind her and wondered if she knew my heart had already sunk – a buried treasure only she could retrieve. I was no longer a pirate looting bounty and spoils. I was now her guardian – this truth I swore. 

As she spoke, my eyes wandered back to the map, tracing the lines of continents and oceans. I wondered if love was like this – vast and unknowable, with shores we’d never touch and islands we’d never find. It didn’t matter, for I was ready for the journey. An adventure I had yearned for on sleepless nights, longing for eyes that could ignite my mind and power my breath. We were in love, and I was infatuated with her, passionately charting a course through the currents of her heart.

I wished for smooth sailings to distant places where wonders awaited, beyond the reach of ordinary life—together, in another world, conjuring dreams of feasts in foreign lands in tongues of romance. 

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