love-poems

I was so blessed. The first person I gave my heart to was an angel who plucked the feathers off his wings and built a nest for it.

My love, you are driving the entire world mad. The nightingales are committing suicide one by one out of jealousy of your voice. The roses took one glance at your beauty and folded themselves from shame. The trees now only whisper your name and the sky hasn__ stopped crying since you looked up. Have pity on us, my love. We have already broken all the mirrors and glass out of fear that you will forget us and fall in love with yourself once you see what we all cannot stop seeing.

I see them and they see me but the lovers _ we recognise one another: there is light in our eyes.

Poetry is jealous of you tonight, for as soon as I come to pen a few words, your perfume attacks me in the most civilised manner and I forget myself. I forget the poem. I forget the ...

I only wrote prose before I met you. My musings were superfluous and serious as well. But now the words dance with me. I sing with them and we create poetry.

If I had to choose between all the books in the world and you, then I would choose to read your body for the rest of my life.

The first time I heard you laugh, I only wanted to say funny things so you would always be laughing. You know what happens to chocolate when you leave it out in the sun? I__ that unfortunate chocolate and you, you are the laughing sun. For this reason, I am offering myself to you not as a martyr or some selfless fool, but as a self-indulgent moth who actively pursues the light without much fear for the flame. The moth who revels in the heat and declares: Burn me.

LoveHas a way of wiltingOr blossomingAt the strangest,Most unpredictable hour.This is how love is,An uncontrollable beastIn the form of a flower.

In this storyI am the poetYou're the poetry.

I spent all nightweaving a poem for you to wear. You look so beautifulwhen you wear my light.

The depths of her thoughts will have you never wanting to surface for air...

How can you be a lover of loveand not be a lover of God?It is impossible.

One sip of this wine and you will go mad with drunkenness. You will drop your masks and tear your clothes _ destroying everything that separates you from the Lover. Once you taste the fruit of this vine, you will be kicked out of the city of yourself. You will forget the world. You will forget yourself. I tell you: you will become a madman who wanders the streets looking for the Lover once you drink this Wine of Love.

The lover drinksand the cup-bearer pours.The lover thinksbut the cup-bearer knows:love begets love.Since this wine is love,then this cup is love,then this tavern is love,then this life is love.

He knows all my thoughts. He knows all I__e ever done and He loves me all the same. What is our purpose, you ask. It is to love like God.

Writing poems is simply an excuse to remember You.

The summer in youcalms the winter in me.

The skies bend, the time stops, the lanes move and the fires dance,It can mean only one thing that I am with you.You are enigmatic yet so beautiful that I have lost my sense, You are as immaculate as the unadulterated morning dew And your beauty leaves me in a mystified trance.I do not foresee what you and I will beBut I promise to be with you till the rocks keep meeting the sea.